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ESSAYS

ON THE

INTELLECTUAL..
ACTIVE POWERS

O F

M A N.

By THOMAS REID, D. D. F.R.S. Edix.

PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY
IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW.

! N THREE V O 1- U M E S.

VOL. in.

He batbjheived thee^ 0 Man, what is good. M i c a h .

DUBLIN:
Printed for P. BYI^NE, No. ic8, and J. MILLIKEN, No. j2,

Gr.\FTON-STRE£T.

1790

CONTENTS.

Pa ore
INTRODUCTION, ... °x

ESSAY I.
OF ACTIVE POWER IN GENERAL.

Chap. i. Of the Notion of Adivc Pow^Kr - 5

2. The fjjuc Subject, - - . \^

3. Cy Mr. Locke's Account of our Idea of

Poxver, - - - . 22

4. Of Mr. Hume's Opinion of the Idea of

Pozvcr, - - - 26

5. Whether Beings that have no I'Vi/I nor

Undcrj}anding may have Aclive
Poiver ? - - - - -12

6. Of the efficient Caufes of the Phitnomeua

of Nature, - - - - 40

7. Of the Extent of Human Power, 47

ESSAY n.

OF THE W I L L.

Chap, i. Obfervations concerning the Will, - ;;7

2. Of the Inf.ucr.ce of Incitements and

Motives upon the Will, - - 64

3- Q/" Operations of Mind which nuny be

called Voluntary, - - - ^ <;

-|. Corollaries, - • . . b^y

a 2 ESSAY

ESSAYS

ON THE

ACTIVE POWERS

OF THE

HUMAN MIND.

INTRODUCTION.

1 H E divifion of the faculties of the human mind
mlo U ndcrji a nding 2Lnd JVill is very ancient, and has
been very generally adopted ; the former compre-
licnding all our fpeculativc, the latter all our aftive
Powers.

It is evidently the intention of our Maker, that
man (liould be an active and not merely a fpeculativc
being. For tliis purpofe, certain active powers have
been given him, limited indeed in many refpecis,
but fuited to his rank and place in the creation.

(^ur bufiiiers is to manage thefe powers, by pro-
pofing to ourfelves the bcft ends, planning the moft
proper fyftem of conduct that is in our power, and
cxccuiing it witli induilry and zeal. This is true
wifdom ; this is the very intention of our being.

A Lvcry

2 INTRODUCTION.

Every thing virtuour, :ind praifc-wortliy n:iilt lie
in the right ufc of our power) every thing vicious
and bhnieable in the abufe of it. What is not
within the fphere of our pov»-er cannot be imputed
to us cither for blame or praife. Thefe are fclf-evi-
dent truths, to which every unprejudiced mind
yields an immediate ard invincible afi'cnt.

Kr.ov/ledge derives its value from this, that it
enlarges our power, and direds us in the application
of it. For in the right employment of our active
power confifts all the honour, dignity and worth of
a man, and, in the abufc and perverlion of it, all
vice, corrupt ion and depravity.

We are diftinguifljed from the brute-animals, not
lefs by our aftivc than by our fpeculativc powers.

1 he brutes are flimulatcd to various actions by
their iniHncls, by their appetites, by their pafilons.
But they feem to be neceiiarily determaned by the
ftrongeft impulfe, witiiout any capacity of fclf-go-
vernment. Therefore m'^c do riot blame them for
what they do ; nor have we any reafon to think that
they blame themfeives. They may be trained up
by ciifcipline, but cannot be governed by law. —
There is no evidence that they have the conception
of a law, or of its obligation.

Man is capable of acting from motives of a higher
nature. He perceives a dignity and worth in one
courfc of condu<51:, a demerit and turpitude in ano-
ther, which brutes have not the capacity to dif-
cern.

He perceives it to be his duty to aCt the worthy
and the honourable part, w^hcthcr his appetites and
pailions incite him toit, or the contrary. W^hen he
facrifices the gratification of the flrongeil: appetites
or paflions to duty, this is fo far from diminifliing
themt-ritof his conduct, that it greatly increafes it,
and alTords, upon rcflcftion, an inward fatisfaction
and triumph, of which brute-animals are not fuf-
ceptible. W^hcn he ads a contrary part, he has a
. . confcioufncfs

I N T R O D U C 1 I O N. 5

confcioufnefs of demerit, to which they are no lefa
ftrangers.

Since, therefore, the active powers of man make
fo important a part of his conl^itution, and diftin-
guifli him fo eminently from his fellow-animals, they
(icferve no lefs to be the fubject of philofophical dif-
tjuifition than his intellectual powers.

A jufl knowledge of our powers, whether intel-
Icvflual or active, is fo far of real importance to us,
as it aids us in the exercife of them. And every
man muft acknowledge, that to act properly is
much more valuable than to think juftly or reafon
acutely.

A 2 ESSAY

ESSAY I.

OF ACITIVE POWER IN GENERAL.
C H A r. 1.

Of the Notion of Jclivc Poicer.

[ () conficlcr gravely M'liat is meant h\ A<:tive
i\)\vcr, may feein altogether unncceffary, aiicl to l)c
mere trifling. It is not a term of art, but a com-
mon word in our language, ulbd every day in di/-
courle, even by the vulgar. We find words of the
fame meaning; in all other lan'-uaq-es ; and there is
no reafon to think that it is not perfectly undcr-
Jtood by all men who underftand the Englifli lan-

p"ua"^c.
5 o _

1 believe all this is true, and that an attempt t*>
explain a word lb well imderftood, and to fliow that
il lias a meaning, requires an apology.

'I lie apology is, That tlii., term, fo well underftood
by the vulgar, has been darkened by phiiofophers,
who, in this as in many other inftances, have founil
great difiicultics about a thing which, to tiic refc.of
mankind, feems perfectly clear.

1 his has been the more ealily CiTectcd, bccaufc
Power is a thing fo much of its own kind, and
lo fiuiplc in its nature, as net to admit of a logical
«iennitioii.

6 E S S S A Y I. Chap. I.

It is wel] known, that there are many things per-
fectly underftood, and of which we have clear and
dillincl conceptions, which cannot 1/C logically de-
fined. No man ever attempted to dcline magni-
tude ; yet there is no word whofe meaning i:'. more
diiiinclly or more generally underftood. We can-
not give a logical definition of thought, of duration,
of number or of motion.

When men attempt to define fuch things, they
give no light. They may give a fynonymous v.'ord
or phrafe, but it will probably be a worfe for a
better. If they will define, the definition will either
be grounded upon a hypothefis, or it will darken
the fubject rather than throw light upon it.

The Ariilotelian definition of motion, that it is
" A^us eniis in pofentia^quatenus in poteniia,^' has been
juftly ceafured by modern Philofcphers ; yet I think
it is matched by what a celebrated modern Fhilofo-
pher has given us, as the moft accurate definition of
belief, to wit, " 'That it is a lively idea related to
" or aflbciated with a prefent imprcjllon." Treatife
of Him an Nature, vol. i. p. 172. " Memory," ac-
cording to the fame Philofopher, " is the faculty
" by which we repeat our imprcitions, fo as that
" thev retain a confiderablc dec;ree of their firft vi-
" vacity, and are fomewhat intermediate betwixt
" an idea and an imprcfiion.'*

Euclid, if his editors have not done him injuf-
tice, has attempted to defme a right line, to define
unity, ratio and number. But thefe definitions are
good for nothing. We may indeed fufpect them
not to be Euclid's ; becaufe they arc never once
quoted in the Elements, and are of no ufe.

I fhall not therefore attempt to define aclive pow-
er, that I may not be liable to the fame cenfurc ; but
fhall oii'er fome obfervations that may lead us to at-
tend to the conceptioji we have of it in our own
minds.

1. Power

OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 7

I. Power is not an object of any of our erUernal
fcnfcs, nor even an object of conicioufneft.

That it is not leen, nor hcarvl, nor touched, ror
tailed, nor fmelt, need.; no proof. TJiat we are not
confcious of it, in the proper fenfe of that word,
will be no Icfs evident, if we reflca, that confciouf-
nefs is that power of the mind by \\ hich it has an
immediate knowledge of its own operations. Pov/cr
i:^ not an operation of the mind, and therefore no
objecl of confcioufnefs. Indeed every operation of
the mind is the exertion of iomc power of the mind;
but we are confcious of the operation only, the
power lies behind the fcene ; and though v/e may
juRly infer the power fre)m the operation, it mull be
remembered, that inferring is not the province of
confcioufnefs, but of reafon.

I acknowledge, therefore, that our having an\r
conception or idea of power is repugnant to Mr.
LocKii's theory, that all our fiir.pic ideas are got
either by the external fenfes, or by confcioufnefs.
Both cannot be true. Mr. Hume perceived this re-
pugnancy, and confiftently maintained, that we have
no idea of power. Mr. Locke did not perceive it.
It he had, it might have led him to fufpecl his the-
ory ; for when theory is repugnant to fact, it is
eafy to fee which ought to yield. I am confcious
that 1 have a conception or idea of power, but, flricliy
fpeaking, I am not confcious thai I have poivcr.

I fhali have occafion to Ihew, that we Jiave very
early, from our conftitutiou, a conviclion or belief
of fome degree of aalve power in ourfelves. This
belief, however, is not confcioufnefs : For we may
be deceived in it ; but the tePamony of confcioui-
ncfs can never deceive. Thus, a m.an who is ftruck
with a palfy in the night comriionly knows not that
he has loil the power of fpecch till he attempts to
Ipc.ik ; he knowo not whether he can move his hands
and arms till he makes the trial ; and if, without
making trial, he conUilts his confcioufnefs ever fo

atteu.

8 E S S A Y 1. Chap. I.

attentively, it will give him no information whether
he has loft thefe powers, or ftill retains them.

From this we muft conclude, that the powers we
have are not an object of confcioufnefs, though it
would be foolifh to ceafure this way of fpeaking in
popular difcourfe, which requires not accurate at-
tention to the diifcrent provinces of our various
faculties. The teftimony of confcioufnefs is always
unerring, nor was it ever called in queilion by the
greateil fceptics, ancient or modern.

2. Afecond obfervation is, That as there are fome
things of which we have a direcl, and others of which
we have only a relative conception, power belongs
to the latter clafs.

As this diftinction is overlooked by moft writers
in logic, I fhall beg leave to illuftrate it a little, and
then fliall apply it to the prefent fubject.

Of Ibme things we know what they arc in them-
felves ; our conception of fuch things I call diretl.
Of other things, we know not what they are in
themfeives, but only that they have certain proper-
ties or attributes, or certain relations to other things;
of thefe our conception is only relative.

To illuftrate this by fome examples : In the uni-
verfity-library, I call for the book, prefs L, fhelf
lo. No. 10.; the library-keeper muft have fuch a
conception of the book I want, as to be able to
diflinguifh it from ten thoufand that are under his
care. But what conception does he form of it from
my word:; ? They inform him neither of the author,
nor the fubjecl, nor the language, nor the fize, nor
the binding, but only of its mark and place. Ilis
conception of it is merely relative to thefe circurn-
llances ; yet this relative notion enables him to
diftingnilh it from every other book in the library.

Tiiereare other relative notions that are not taken
from accidental relations, as in the example juft
now mentioned, but from qualities or attributes
^iicntial tg the thing.

OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 9

Of this kind are our notions both of body and
mind. What i;> body ? It is, fay Philofophers, that
which is extended, folid and divifible. Says the
querirt, I do not afk what the properties of body
arc, but what is the thing itfclf ; let me firft know
directly what body is, and then confidcr it:; proper-
ties ? 'i o this demand I am afraid the querift will
meet with no fatisfactory anfwer ; becaufe our no-
tion of body is not direct: but relative to its qua-
lities. We know that it is fomethins^ extended,
folid and divifible, and we know no more.

Again, if it fliould be afecd, What is mind ? It
is that which thinks. I alk not \\hat it does, or
what its operations are, but what it is ? To this I
can find no anfwer ; our ncuion of mind being not
direct, but relative to its operations, as our notion
of body is relative to its qualities.

There are even many of the qualities of body,
of which we have only a relative conception. What
is heat in a body? It is a quality which alTetflis the
fenfe of touch in a certain wav. If vou v/ant to
know, not how it affects the fenfe of touch, but
what it is initfelf ; this I confefs I know not. INIy
conception of it is not direct, but relative to the
effect it has upon bodies. The notions we have of
all thofe qualities which I\Ir. Locke calls fecondary,
and of thofe lie calls powers of bodies, fucli as the
power of the magnet to attrad iron, or of ihe to
burn wood, are relative.

Having given examples of things of which our
conception is only relative, it may be proper to
mention fomc of which it is direct. Of this kind,
are all the primary qualities of body ; figure, ex-
tcnfion, folidity, hardnefs, fluidity, and the like. —
Of thefe we have a direct and im.mediate knowledge
from our fenfes. To this clafs belong alio all the ope-
rations of mind of which we are conicious. 1 know
what thought is, what memory, what a purpofe,
"vvha; a promife.

There

lo E S S A Y I. Chap. I.

There arc fomc thino-s of which we can have both
a. direct and a relative conception. I can direclly
conceive ten thoufand men or ten thoufand pounds,
becaufe both are objccls of Tenfe, and may be feen.
Rut whether I fee fuch an objed, or direcl;ly con-
ceive it, my notion of it is indiftincl: ; it is only
that of a great multitude of men, or of a great heap
of money ; and afmali addition or diminution makes
no perceptible change in the notion I form in this
way. But I can form a relative notion of the fame
number of men or of pounda, by attending to the
relations which this number has to other numbers,
greater or lefs. Then 1 perceive that the relative
notion is diitinct ancffcientific. For the addition of
a lingle man, or a fingle pound, or even of a penny,
is eafily perceived.

In like manner, I can form a direct notion of a
polygon of a thoufand equal fides and equal angles,
'this direcL notion cannot be more diftinet, when
conceived in the mind, than that which 1 get by
fight, when the object is before me ; and I hncl it
fo indiPiinct, that it has the flime appearance to my
eye, or to my direct conception, as a polygon of a
thoufand and one, or of nine hundred and ninety-
nine fides. But when I form a relative conception
of it, by attending to the relation it bears to poly-
fions of a Q:reater or lefs number of fides, my notion
of it becomes diftincl and fcientinc, and I can de-
monftrate the properties by which it is diftinguKhed
from ail other polygons. From thefe inftances it
appears, that our relative conceptions of things are
not always lefs diftinct, nor lefs fit materials for
accurate reafoning, than thofe that are direct ;
and that the contrary may happen in a remarkiible
degree.

Our conception of power is relative to its exer-
tions or eiTecls. Power is one thing ; its exertion is
another thing. It is true, there can be no exertion
v/ithout power ; but there may be power that is not

exerted.

OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. ir

exerted. Thus a man may have power to fpeak
-when he is iilent ; lie may have power to rife and
walk when he lits IHU.

But though it be one thing to fpeak, and another
to have the power of fpeaking, I apprehend we con-
ceive of the power as fomething which has a certain
relation to the effect. And of every power we
form our notion by the eflecl which it is able to
produce.

3. It is evident that power is a quality, and cannot
exill without a fubject 10 which it bek)ngs.

Tliat power may exiit without any being or fub-
jeiH: to which that power may be attributed, is an
ahfurdity, (hocking to every man of common un-
derftanding.

it is a quality which may be varied, not only in
degree, but alfo in kind ; and we diftinguifli both
the kinds and degrees by the effects which they are
able to produce.

Thus a power to fly, and a power to reafon, are
difl'erent kinds of power, their effects being different
in kind. But a power to carry one hundred weight,
aiid a power to carry two hundred, are different
decrees of the fame kind.

4. We cannot conclude the want of power from
its not being exerted ; nor from the exertion of a
lefs degree of power, can we conclude that there is
no greater degree in the fubjcct. Thus, though a
man on a particular occafion faid nothing, wc can-
not conclude from that circumftance, that he had
not the power of fpeech ; nor from a man's carry-
ing ten pounds weight, can we conclude that he had
not power to carry twenty.

5. There are fomc qualities that have a contrary,
others that have not ; power is a quality of the
latter kind.

Vice is contrary to virtue, mifery to happinefs,
hatred to k)ve, negation to affirmation ; but there
is no contrary to power. Wcakncfij or impotence

arc

12 E S S A Y 1. Chap. I.

are dcfefts or privations of power, but not con-
traries to it.

If what has been faid of power be eafily under-
ftood, and readily allented to, by all who under-
ftand our language, as I believe it is, we may from
this juftly conclude. That we have a diftindl notion
of power, and may reafon about it with under-
ftanding, though we can give no logical definition
of it.

If power were a thing of which wc have no idea,
as fome Philofophers have taken much pains to
prove, that is, if power were a word without any
meaning, we could neither affirm nor deny any thing
concerning it with underftanding. We lliouid have
equal reafon to fay that it is a fubftance, as that it
is a quality ; that it does not admit of degrees as
that it does. If the underftanding immediately af-
fents to one of thefe aflertions, and revolts froni the
contrary, wc may conclude with certainty, that we
put fome meaning upon the word power^ that is,
that we have fome idea of it. And it is chiefly for
the fake of this conclufion, that I liave enumerated
fo many obvious things concerning it.

The term a<5live power is ufed, I conceive, to
diftinguiih it from fpeculative powers. As all lan-
guages diftinguilh acT;ion from fpeculation, the fame
diilindfion is applied to the powers by which they
-';re produced. The powers of feeing, hearing, re-
membering, diftinguilhing, judging, rcafoning, are
fpeculative powers ; the power of executing any
work of art or labour is ad:ive power.

There are many tilings related to power, in fuch
a m.anijer, tliat v/c can have no notion of them if
Y/e have none of power.

The exertion of a*5i:ive power we call a^ion ; and
as every acTtion produce:; fome change, fo every
change muft be cauled by fome exertion, or by the
celfation of fome exertion of power. That which
produces a change by ll\e e:^vertion of its power, we

call

OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. i.^

call the caufe of that change ; and the change pro-
duced, the effed of that caufe.

When one being, by its active power, produces
any change upon another, the laft is faid to be paf-
fivc^ or to be acted upon. Thus we fee that action
and paflion, caufe and efFeft, exertion and opera-
tion, have fuch a relation to active power, that if it
be underftood, they are underftood of confequence;
but if power be a word without any meaning, all
thofe words which are related to it, muft be words
without any meaning. They are, however, com-
mon words in our language ; and equivalent words
have always been common in all languages.

It would be very ftrange indeed, if mankind had
always ufed thefe words fo familiarly, without per-
ceiving that they had no meaning ; and that this
difcovery fhould have been firft made by a Philofo-
pher of theprefent age.

AVith equal reafon it might be maintained, that
though there are words in all languages to exprefs
fight, and words to fignify the various colours which
are objefts of fight ; yet that all m.ankind from the
beginning of the world had been blind, and never
had an idea of fi^ht or of colour. But there are

no abfurdities fo grofs as thofe which Philofophcrs
have advanced concerning ideas.

CHAP.

14 E S S A Y I. Chap. II.

CHAP. II.

The fame Subject.

IHERE are, I believe, no abftracl notions, that
.ire to be found more early, or more univerfally, in
the minds of men, than thofe of acting, and being
acled upon. Every child that undcrftands the dif-
tindion betv/cen ilriking and being llruck, muft
have the conception of action and paflion.

Wc find accordingly, that there is no language fo
imperfect, but that it has active and paflive verbs,
and participles ; the one fignifying Ibme kind of
action ; the other the being acted upon. This dif-
tinction enters into the oriirinal contexture of all

lanouaj^es.

Active verbs have a form and conftru(5cion proper
to themfelves ; pafiive verbs a different form and a
different confcruction. In all languages, the nomi-
native to an active verb is the agent ; the thing acted
upon is put in an oblique cafe. In palTive verbs, the
thing acted upon is the nominative, and the agent,
if expreiTed, muft be in an oblique cafe ; as in this
example : Raphael drew the Cartoons ; the Cartoons
ivere drawn by Raphael.

Every diflinction which we find in the flructure
of all languages, mult have been familiar to thofe
who framed the languages at firft, and to all who
fpeak them with undcrltanding.

It may be objected to this argument, taken from
the ftructure of language, in the ufe of active and
paflive verbs, that active verbs are not always ufed
to denote an action, nor is the nominative before an
active verb, conceived in all cafes to be an agent,
in the ftrict fenfc of that word ; that there are many
paflive verbs whicli have an active fignification, and
aclive verbs which have a pafTivc. From thefe facts,
it may be thougiit a juil conclufion, that in con-
triving the dilferent forms of adive and pafiive

verbs,

OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 15

verbs, and their difTcrcnt coniflruction, men have
not been pjovcrncd by a regard to any difUnclion
between action and paflion, but by chance, or fome
accidental caufc.

In anfwcr to this objcclion, the facT on which it
is founded, mull be admitted ; but I think the con-
clusion not juftly drawn from it, for the following
rcaibns :

1. It feem;3 contrary to reafon, to attribute to
chance or accident, what is fubjecc to rules, even
though there may be exceptions to the rule. The
exceptions may, in fucli a cafe, be attributed to ac-
cident, but the rule cannot. There is perhaps hard-
ly any thing in language fo general, as not to admit
of exceptions. It cannot be denied to be a general
rule, that verbs and participles have an aclive and a
paiTive voice ; and as this is a general rule, not in
one language only, but in all the languages v/c are
acquainted with, it iliews evidently that men, in the
carlicft ftages, and in ail periods of fociety, have
diilinguiflied action from pafPion.

2. It is to be obfervcd, that the forms of language
arc often applied to purpofes different from thofe
for which they were originally intended. The va-
rieties of a language, even the moft perfevft, can
never be made equal to all the variety of human
conceptions. The forms and modifications of lan-
guage mull: be confined within certain limits, that
they may not exceed the capacity of human memo-
ry. Therefore, in all languages, there mufl ])e a
kind of frugality ufed, to make one form of ex-
preffion ferve many different purpofes, like Sir Hu-
dibras's dagger, which, though made to flab or break
a head, was put to many other ufes. Many ex-
aniples might be produced of this frugality in lan-
guage. Thus the Latins and Greeks had five or fix
cafes of nouns, to exprefs the various relations that
one tiiino; could bear to another. The c-enitive cafe
mult have been at firfi: intended to exprefs fome one

capital

i6 ESSAY I. Chap. n.

capital relation, fuch as that of polTeffion or of pro-
perty ; but it would be very difiitult to enumerate
all the relations which, in the progrefs of language,
it was ufed to cxprefs. The fame obfervation may
be applied to other cafes of nouns.

The flighteft fimilitude t>r analogy is thought fuf-
ficient to jufiify the extenfion of a form of fpeech
beyond its proper meaning, whenever the language
docs not aiford a more proper form. In the moods
of verbs, a few of thofe which occur moft frequent-
ly are diftinguifhed by di:Terent forms, and thefe are
made to fupply all the forms that are wanting. The
tame obfervation may be applied to what is called
the %>o!res of verbs. An active and a paflive are the
capital ones ; fome languages have more, but no
language fo many as to aniwer to all the variations
of human thought. We cannot always coin new
ones, and therefore muft life fome one or other of
thofe that are to be found in the language, though
at jBrft intended for another purpofe.

3. A third obfervation in anfwer to the objeclion
is, That we can point out a caufe of the frequent
mifapplication of adtive verbs, to things which have
no proper activity : A caufe which extends to the
greater part of fuch mifapplications, and which con-
firms the account I have given of the proper inten-
tion of aftive andpaflive veibs.

As there is no principle, that appears to be more
univerfally acknowledged by mankind, from the
iirfl: dawn of reafon, tha.n, that every change we
obfcrve in nature muft have a caufe ; fo this is no
fooner perceived, than there arifes in the human
mind, a ftrons: defire to know the caufes of thofe
changes that fall within our obfervation. Felix qui
pciuit rcrum cognofccre caufas, is the voice of nature in
all men. Nor is there anv thing that more early
dirtinguirhcs the rational trom the brute creation,
than this avidity to know the caufes of things, of
which I fee no fign in brute animals.

OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 17

It inufl; furely be admitted, that in thefe periods
wherein hmguages are formed, men are but poorly
furnifhed for carrying on this invelligation with fuc-
ccls. We fee, that the experience of thoufands of
years is neceffary, to bring men into the right track
in this invelHgation, if indeed they can yet be (aid
to be broujiht into it. What innumerable errors
rude ao;es muft fall into, with rcGfard to cauies, from

o ... . .

impatience to judge, and inability to judge right,
we may conjecture from reafon, and may fee from
experience ; from which I think, it is evident, that
fuppofing active verbs to have been originally in-
tencied to exprefs what is properly called action, and
their nominatives to exprefs the agent ; yet, in the
rude and barbarous ftate v/herein languages are form-
ed, there mull: be innumerable mifaplications of fuch
verbs and nominatives, and many things fpoken of
as active, which have no real activity.

To this we may add, that it is a general preju-
dice of our early years, and of rude nations, when
we perceive any thing to be changed, and do not per-
ceive any other thing which we can believe to be the
caufe of that change, to impute it to the thing it-
iblf, and conceive it to be active and animated, io far
as to have the power of producing that change in
itfelf. Hence, to a child, or to a favage, all nature
feems to be animated ; the fea, the earth, the air,
the fun, moon, and ftars, rivers, fountains and
groves, are conceived to be active and animated be-
ings. As this is a fentiment natural to man in his
rude Hate, it has, on that account, even in poliflied
nations, the verifimilitude that is re(juired in poetical
fiction and fable, and makes perfonilication one of
the moft agreeable figures in poetry and eloquence.

The origin of this prejudice, probably is, that we
judge of other things by ourfelvcs, and therefore arc
difpofed to afcribc to them that life and activity
which we know to be in ourfelves.

A little girl afcribcs to her doll, the pafiions and
fcntiments Ihe feels in herfelf. Even brutes feem to

B have

1 8 E S S A Y. r. Chap. II.

have fomclhinpj of this nature. A yvOung cat, when
flie Tecs any brifk motion in a feather or a ftraw, is
prompted, by natural inftincb, to hunt it as flie would
hunt a moufe.

Whatever be the origin of this prejudice in man-
kind, it has a powerful influence upon language, and
leads men, in the ftruclure of language, to afcribe
action to many things that arc merely pallive ; be-
caufe, when fuch forms of fpeech were invented,
thofc things we really believed to be active. Thus
we fay, the wind blows, the fea rages, the fun rifes
and fetSj bodies gravitate and move.

When experience difcovers that thefe things are
altogether inactive, it is eafy to correct our opinion
about them ; but it is not fo eafy to alter the cftab-
liflied forms of language. The moft perfed: and the
moft poliflied languages are like old furniture, which
is never perfectly fuited to the prefent tafte, but re-
tains fomething of the fafhion of the times when it
was made.

I'hus, though all men of knowledge believe, that
the fucceflion of day and night is owing to the rota-
tion of the earth round its axis, and not to any di-
urnal motion of the heavens ; yet we find ourfelves
under a neceflity of fpeaking in the old ftyle, of the
fun's rifing and going down, and coming to the me-
ridian. And this ftyle is ufed, not only in converf-
ing with the vulgar, but when men of knowledge
converfc with one another. And if we fhould fup-
pofe the vulgar to be at laft fo far enlightened, as to
have the fame belief with the learned, of the caufe of
day and night, the fame ftyle would ftill be ufed.

From this inflance we may learn, that the language
of mankind may furnifli good evidence ot opinions
which have been early and univerfally entertained,
and that ;he forms contrived for cxpreOing fuch opi-
nions, may remain in ufe after the oppinions which
gave rife to them have been greatly changed.

Aiftive verbs appear plainly to have been firft con
trived to e-\prcfs adion. They are ftill in general r ; -

plied

OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 19

plied to this purpofe. And though we find many
inftances of the application of active verbs to things
which we now believe not to be active, this ought to
be afcribcd to mens having once had the belief that
thofe things are acT:ive, and perhaps, in fome cafe^,
to this, that forms of exprelTion are commonly ex-
tended, in courfc of time, beyond their original in-
tention, either from analogy, or becaufe more pro-
per forms for the purpofe arc not found in language.

Even the mifapplication of this notion of acTiion.
and active power fliews that there is fuch a notion
in the human mind, and fliews the necefllty there is
in philofophy of diftinguifliing the proper application
of thcfc words, from the vague and improper appli-
cation of them, founded on common language, or
on popular prejudice.

Another argument to (hew that all men have a
notion or idea of aclivc power is, that there are ma-
ny operations of mind common to all men who have
reafon, and neceflary in the ordinary conduct of life,
which imply a belief of active power in ourfelves and
in others.

All our volitions and efforts to a6t, all our deliber-
ations, our purpofes and promifes, imply a belief of
a(51:iv^e power in ourfelves ; our counfels, exhortati-
ons and commands, imply a belief of active power
in thofe to whom they are addrefled.

If a man fliould make an effort to fly to the moon;
if he fliould even deliberate about it, or refolve to do
it, we fhould conclude him to be lunatic ; and even.
lunacy would not account for his conducf, unlefs it
made him believe the thing to be in his power.

If a man promifes to pay me a fum of money to-
morrow, without believing: that it will then be in his
power, he is not an honefl man ; and, if I did not
believe that it will then be in his power, I Ihould
have no dependence on his promilc.

All our power is, without doubt, derived from
the Author of our being, and, as he gave it freely,

B 2, he

20 E S S A Y I. Chap. 11.

he may take it away when h.c will. No man can
be certain of the continuance of any of his powers
of body or mind for a moment ; and, therefore, in
every promife, there is a condition undcrftood, to
wit, if \vc live, if we retain that health of body and
foundnefs of mind which is nccefTary to the perform-
ance, and if nothing happen, in the providence of
God, which puts it out of our power. The rudelt
favages are taught by nature to admit thefc conditi-
ons in all promifes, whether they he exprefTed or not ;
and no man is charged with breach of promife, when
he fails through the failure of thefe conditions.
' It is evident, therefore, that, without the belief of
fome active power, no honeft man would make a pro-
mife, no wife man would truft to a promife ; and it
is no icfs evident, that the belief of active power, in
ourfelvcs or in others, implies an idea or notion of
active jx)wer.

The fame reafoning may be applied to every in-
flancc wherein we give counfcl to others, therein
we perfuade or com.mand. As long, therefore, as
mankind are beinors who can deliberate and refolve
and v/ill, as long as they can give counfel, and
exhort, and command, they muft believe the ex-
iftence of active power in themfelves, and in others,
and therefore muit have a notion or idea of active
power.

It miglit farther be obferved, that power is the
proper and immediate object of ambition, one of
the moft univerfal paflions of the human mind, and
that w^hich makes the greateft figure in the hiftory
of all ages. Whether j\Ir. Hume, in defence of his
fyltem, would maintain that there is no fuch paflion
in mankind as ambition, or that ambition is not a
vehement dcfire of power, or that men may have a
vehement defire of power, without having any idea
of power, 1 will not pretend to divine. I cannot
Jielp repealing my apology for infifting fo long in
the refutation of fo great an abfurdity. It is a capi-
tal

OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 21

tal doctrine in a late celebrated fyP.em of human
nature, that we have no idea of power, not even in
the Deity ; that wc arc not able to difcover a fingle
inftance of it, either in body or fpirit, either in fupe-
rior or inferior natures ; and that we deceive our-
felves when we imagine that we are poileflcd of any
idea of this kind.

'To fupport this important doctrine, and the out-
works that are raifed in its defence, a great part of
the hrft volume of the Trcatife of Human Nature is
employed, 'that fyftem abounds with conclufions
the moft abfurd, that ever were advanced by any
Philofopher, deduced with great acutenefs, and in-
genuity, from principles commonly received by
Philofophers. To rcjecT: fuch conclufions as unwor-
thy of a hearing-, would be difrefpccfful to the inee-
nious author : and to refute them is difllcult, and
appears ridiculous.

It is difliculr, becaufe we can hardly find princi-
ples to reafon from, more evident than thofe we wifii
to prove ; and it appears ridiculous, becaufe, as this
author juftly obferves, next to the ridicule of deny-
ing an evident truth, is that of taking much pains
to prove it.

rroteftants complain, with jufticc, of the hardfliip
put on them by Roman Catholics, In requiring them
to prove that bread and wijie is not flefn and blood.
I'hey have, however, fubm.itted to this hardfhip for
the lake of truth. 1 think it no lefs hard to be put
to prove that men have an idea of power.

Wliat convinces myfelf that I have an idea of pow-
er is, that I am confcious that I know what I mean
by that word, and, while I have this confcioufnefs,
I difdain equally to hear arguments for or againll my
having fuch an idea. But if we would convince thoie,
^vho, being led auay by prejudice or by authority,
deny that they have any fuch idea, we muft condc-
fcend to ufe fuch arguments as the fubjecl will aflbrd,
^pd fuch as we fhould ufc with a man who fhould

deny

ESSAY I. Chap. III.

deny that mankind have any idea of magnitude or
of equality.

The arguments I have adduced are taken from
thefe five topics : i . That there are many things
tint we can affirm or deny concerning power, with
underftanding. 2- That there are, in all languages,
words fignifying, not only power, but fignifying ma-
ny other things that imply power, fuch as, action and
paflion, caufe and effect, energy, operation, andothers.

3. That in theftructure of all languages, there is an
active and paffive form in verbs and participles, and
a diflerent conftruction adapted to thefe form.-;, of
which diverfity no account can be given, but that it
has been intended to diftinguifh action from paffion.

4. That there are many operations of the human
mind familiar to every man come.to the ufe of reafon,
and neceffary in the ordinary conduct of life, which
imply a conviction of fome degree of power in our-
felves and in others. 5. That the defire of power is
one of the ftrongeft pafTions of human nature.

CHAP. III.

Of IMr. Locke's Account of our Idea cf Poiicr.

1 H I S author, having refuted the Cartefian doc-
trine of innate ideas, took up, perhapst 00 rafhly,
an opinion that all our fimple ideas are got, either by
fenfation or by reflection ; that is, by our external
fenfes, or by confcioufnefs of the operations of our
own minds.

Through the whole of this EiTay, he fhews a fa-
therly affection to this opinion, and often ftrains ve-
ry hard to reduce our iimple ideas to one of thofc
fources, or both. Of this, feveral inftances might

Mr. LOCKE'S ACCOUNT of POWER. ' 23

be given, in his account of our idea of fubftance,
of duration, of perfonal identity. Omitting thefe,
as foreign to the prefcnt fubjecH:, I fliall only take no-
tice of the account he gives of our idea of power.

The fum of it is, That obferving, by our fenfes,
various changes in objects, we collect a poflibility in
cue object to be changed, and in another a poflibi-
lity of making that change, and fo come by that idea
which we call power.

Thus we fay the fire has a power to melt gold, and
gold haspower to be melted ; the lirft he calls active,
the fecond pafllve power.

He thinks, however, that we have the mofl diftin6t
notion of active power, by attending to the power
which we ourfelves exert, in giving motion to our
bodies when at reft, or in directing our thoughts to
this or the other object as we will. And this way of
forming the idea of power, he attributes to refledti-
on, as he refers the former to fenfation.

On this account of the origin of our idea of pow-
er, I would beg leave to make two remarks, with
the rcfpect that is moft juftly due to fo great a Philo-
fopher, and fo good a man.

1. Whereas he diltinguifhes power into a^live and
pajjivc^ I conceive paflive power is no power at all.
He means by it, the poflibility of being changed.
To call this power, fecms to be a mifapplication of
the word. I do n9t remember to have met with the
Y>\\\"3L(t pajjlvc power in any other good author. Mr.
Locke fcems to hav^c been unlucky in inventing it;
and it deferves not to be retained in our lanjiuaofe.

Perhaps he was unwarily led into it, as an oppofitc
to active power. But I conceive wc call certain
powers cMh'c, to diftinguilh them from other pow-
ers that 2.rc cdWcd fpecidative. As all mankind diftin-
guifh action from fpeculation, it is very proper to
diftinguilh the powers by which thofe different
operations are performed, into a(5tive and fpecula-
tive. Mr. Locke indeed acknowledges that active

pov.'er

24 E S S A Y I. Chap. III.

power is more properly called power; but I fee no
propriety at all in paiTive power ; it is a powerlefs
power, and a contradiction in terms.

2. I would obferve that Mr. Locke fsems to have
impofed upon hinifelf, in attempting to reconcile
tliis account of the idea of power to his favourite doc-
trine, That all our fniiple ideas are ideas of fenfati-
on, or of reflection.

There are two fteps, according to his account,
which the mind takes, informing this idea of pow-
er 'i^rjl. It obferves changes in tilings ; 2.u<\,fccoudlyy
From thefe changes, it infers a caufe of them, and a
power to produce them.

If both thefe ftcps are operations of the external
fenfes, or of confcioufnefs, then the idea of power
may be called an idea of fenfation, or reflection.
But, if either of thofe fleps requires the co-operation
of other powers of the mind, it will follow, that
the idea of power cannot be got by fenfation, nor by
reflection, nor by both together. Let us, therefore,
conlidcr each of thefe ftcps by itfeif.

Firji, We obferve various changes in things.
And Mr. Locke takes it for granted, that changes
in external things are obferved by our fenfes, and
that changes in our thoughts are obferved by con-
fcioufnefs. '

I grant that it may be faid, that changes in things
are obferved by our fenfes, when we do not mean
to exclude every other faculty from a fnare in this
operation. And it would be ridiculous to ccnfure
the phrafc, v^hen it is fo ufed in popular difcourfe.

But it is necelTary to Mr. Locke's purpofe, that
changes in external things fhould be obferved by the
fenfes alone, excluding every other faculty ; becaufe
every faculty that is neceflary in order to obferve
the change, will claim a fliare in the origin of the
idea of power.

Now, it is evident, that memory is no lefs neccf-
fary than the fenfes, in order to our obferving

changes

Mr. LOCKE'S ACCOUNT of POWER. 25

changes in external things, and tlicrcforc the idea
of power, derived from the changes- obferved, may
as iuftly be alcribed to memory as to the fenfcs.

jkvery change luppoles two ftates of the thing
changed. Both thefe Hates may be paft ; one of
them' at leaft mull be pall ; and one only can be
prelent. By our fenfes we may obferve the prelcnt
ftate of the thing ; but memory muft fupply us with
the paft ; and, unlefs we remember the paft ftate,
we can perceive no change.

The fame obfervation may be applied to confci-
oufnefs. The truth, therefore, is, that, by the fenfes
alone, without memory, or by confcioufnefs alone,
without memory, no change can be obfervcd. —
Every idea, therefore, that is derived from obferv-
ing changes in things, muft have its origin, partly
from memory, and not from the fenfes alone, nor
from confcioufnefs alone, nor from both together.

The fccond ftep made by the mind in forming this
idea of power is this : From the changes obferved
we collect a caufe of thofe changes, and a power to
produce them.

Here one might a{k Mr. Locke, whether it is by
our fenfes that we draw this conclufion, or is it by
confcioufnefs ? Is rcafoning the province of the
fenfes, or is it the province of confcioufnefs ? If the
fenfes can draw one conclufion from premifes, they
may draw five hundred, and demonftrate the whole
elements of Euclid.

Thus, I think, it appears, that the account which
Mr. Locke himfclf gives of the origin of our idea
of power, cannot be reconciled to his flivourite doc-
trine. That all our fimple ideas have their origin
from fcnfation or reflection ; and that, in attempt-
ing to derive the idea of power from thefe two
fources only, he unawares brings in our memory,
and our reafoning pQwer, for a Ihare in its origin.

C 11 A P.

25 E S S A Y I. Cha!'. IV.

d H A P. IV.

Of Mr, Hume's Opinion of the Idea of Poiver.

1 H I S very ingenious author adopts the principle
of Mr. Locke before mentioned, That all our fimplc
ideas are derived either from fenfation or reflection.
This he feems to undcritand, even in a ftriclcr fcnfe
than Mr. Locke did. For he will have all our fim-
plc ideas to be copies of preceding impreilions, either
of our external fenfes or of confcioulnefs. " After
" the moft accurate examination,'* fays he, "• of
*- which I am capable, I venture to aflirm, that the
" rule here holds without any exception, and that
" every fimple idea has a fimple imprefiion which
" refen^bles it, and every fimple impreiTion a cor-
" refpondent idea. Every one may fatisfy himfclf
" in this point, by running over as many as he
" pleafes."

I obferve here, by the way, that this conciuficn is
formed by the author rafhiy and unphilofc^phically.
For it is a conclufion that admits of no proof, but
by induction ; and it is upon this ground that he
himfclf founds it. 'Fhe induclion cannot be perfect
till every fimple idea that can enter into the human
mind be examined, and be fhewn to be copied from
a refcmbliiig imprefhon of fenfe or of conlcioufncf-;.
No man can pretend to hav^e made this examination
of ail our fimple ideas without exception ; and,
therefore, no man can, confiftcntly with the rulc>
of philofophifing, aflure us, that this conclufion holds
\\ ithout any exception.

The author profefles, in his title-page, to intro-
duce into moral fubjects the experimental method of
reafoning. This was a very laudable attempt ; but
he ought to have known, that it is a rule in the ex-
perimental method of reafoning, That conclufior.s

cftabliilicd

Mr. HUME'S OPINION of POWER. 27

cftabliflied by induction ought never to exclude ex-
ceptions, if any fuch fliould afterx^^ards appear from
obfervation or experiment. Six. Isaac Newton,
fpeaking of fuch conclufions, fays, " Et ii quando
" in experiundo poftea reperiatur ahquid, quod a
" parte contraria faciat ; turn demum, non fine ifti:i
" exceptionibus affirmetur conclulio oppcwtebii."
'' But," fays our author, ^ I will venture to afiirm,
" that the rule here holds without any excep-
" tlon."

Accordingly, throughout the whole treatife, this
general rule is confidered as of fufficient authority,
in itfelf, to exclude, even from a hearing, every
thing that appears to be an exception to it. This is
contrary to the fundamental principles of the ex-
perimental method of reafoning, and therefore may
be called rafhand unphilofopliical.

Having thus eftabliflied this general principle, the
author does great execution by it among our ideas.
He finds, that we have no idea of fubftance, mate-
rial or fpiritual ; that body and mind are only cer-
tain trains of related imprefiions and ideas ; that we
have no idea of fpace or duration, and no idea of
power, a(ftive or intelleflive.

Mr. Locke ufed his principle of fenfation and re-
ilcclion with greater moderation and mercy. Being
unwilling to thrufi: the ideas we have mentioned into
the Umbo of non-cxifcencc, he ftretches fenfation and
reflection to the very utmofi:, in order to receive
thcfc ideas within the pale ; and draws them into It,
as it were by violence.

But this author, inftead of fliewing them any fa-
vour, feems fond to get rid of them.

Of the ideas mentioned, it is only that of power
that concerns our prcfcnt fubjecl. And, with re-
gard to this, the author boldly affirms, " That we
'* never have any idea of power ; that we deceive
" ourfelves when v.'e imagine we are pofl'eflcd of
" any idea of this kind."

28 E S S A Y I. CiiAr. I\^

He begins with obfcrving, " That the terms cffi-
" cacy^ agency, power, force, energy, are all nearly iy-
" nonynious ; and therefore it is an abiurdity to
" employ any of them in defining the reft. By
" this obfervation," fays he, " we reject at once all
" the vulgar definitions which Philofophers ha\ c
" given of power and efficacy."

vSurely this author was not ignorant, that there
are many things of which we have a clear and dif-
tincl conception, which are fo fimplc in their nature,
that they cannot be dehned any other way than by
lynonymous words. It is true that this is not a lo-
gical defmition, but that there is, as he afHrms, an
abfurdityin ufmg it, when no better can be had, I
cannot perceive.

He might here have applied to pozvsr and efficacy
what he fays, in another place, of pride and humility,
" The paflions of pride and humility" he fays, " bc-
" ing fimple and uniform impreflions, it is impof-
" lible we can ever give a juft defmition of them.
" As the words are of general ufe, and the things
" they reprefcnt the mofl common of any, every
" one, of himfelf, will be able to form a juFl notion
" of them without danger of millake."

He mentions Mr. Locke's account of the iilca of
power. That, obferving various changes in things,
we conclude, that there muft be fomewhere a power
capable of producing them, and fo arrive at lafi,
by this reafoning, at the idea of power and eiiN
cacy.

" But, " fays he,. " to be fatislied that this ex-
'*^ plication is more popular than philofophical, we
" need but reflect on two very obvious principles ;
" firji. That reafon alone can never give rile to any
" original idea ; and, fecoridly. That reafon, as dif-
'• tinguiilied from experience, can never make us
'- conclude, that a caufe, or productive quality, is
*'• abfolutely requifitc to every beginning of ex-
'•' iftcnce."

Before

Mr. PlUiME's OPINION of POWER. 29

Before we confider the two principles which our
author oppolls to the popular opinion of Mr. Locke,
I obferve,

I'lrjl^ That there are fome popular opinions, which,
on that very account, dcferve more regard from Phi-
lofophers, than tliis author is willing to beflow.

That things cannot begin to exiil:, nor undergo
any change, without a caufe that hath power to
produce that change, is indeed fo popular an opinion,
that, I believe, this author is the firft of mankind
that ever called it in queftion. It is fo popular,
that there is not a man of common prudence who
does not acl from this opinion, and rely upon it
every day of his life. And any man who ihould
conducT: himfelf by the contrary opinion, would
foon be confined as infane, and continue in that
ftate, till a fufficient caufe was found for his en-
largement.

Such a popular opinion as this, ftands upon a
higher authority than that of philofophy, and phi-
lofophy mufl: ftrikc fail to it, if fhe v/ould not ren-
der herfelf contemptible to every man of common
underftanding.

For though, in matters of deep fpeculation, the
multitude mufl be guided by Philofophers, yet, in
thinixs that are within the reach of everv man's un-
dcrftanding, and upon which the whole conduct of
human life turns, the Philofopher muft follow the
multitude, or make himfelf perfectly ridiculous.

Secondly, I obferve, that whether this popular
opinion be true or falfe, it follows from mens hav-
ing this opinion, that they have an idea of power.
A falfe opinion about power, no lefs than a true,
implies an idea of power ; for how can men have
any opinion, true or falfe, about a thing of which
they have no idea ?

Thcjirji of the very obvious principles which the
author oppofes to Mr. Locke's account of the idea

30 !•: S S A Y I. Chap. IV.

of power, is, That reafon alone can never give rife
to any orii^inal idea.

This appears to me fo far from being a very ob-
vious principle, that the contrary is very obviou>.

Is it not our reafoning faculty that gives rife to
the idea of reafoning itfelf ? As our idea of fight
takes its rife from our being endowed with that fa-
culty ; fo does our idea of reafoning. Do not the
ideas of demonftration, of probability, our ideas of
a fyllogifm, of major, minor and conclulion, of an
cnthymcme, dilemma, forites, and all the v^arious
modes of reafoning, take their rife from the faculty
of reafon ? Or is it pofiible, that a being, not en-
dowed with the faculty of reafoning, ihould have
thefe ideas ? This principle, therefore, is fo far from
being obvioufly true, that it appears to be obvioufly
falfe.

The fccond obvious principle is. That reafon, as
diftinguiflied from experience, can never make us
conclude, that a caufe, or productive quality, is
nbfolutely requifite to every beginning of ex-
iftence.

In feme Effays on the Tntelleclual Powers of Man,
I had occafion to treat of this principle, That every
change in nature muft have a caufe ; and, to pre-
vent repetition, I beg leave to refer the reader to
what is faid upon this fubjecft, Effcvj VI. chap. 6. I
endeavoured to fhew that it is a firft principle, evi-
dent to all men come to years of underftanding. —
Befides its having been univerfally received, without
the leaft doubt, from the beginning of the world,
it has this fure mark of a firft principle, that the
belief of it is abfolutely neceffary in the ordinary
afiairs of life, and, without it, no man could ad
v.'ith common prudence, or avoid the imputation of
infanity. Yet a Philofopher, v/ho a«fted upon the
firm belief of it every day of his life, thinks lit, in
his clofet, to call it in queftion.

He infmuates here, that we iTiay know it from

experience.

Mr. HUME'S OPINION of POWER. 31

experience. I endeavoured to fliew, that we do not
learn it from experience, for two reafons.

Firjl, Becaufc it is a neceflary truth, and has al-
ways been received as a necciTary truth. Experience
gives no information of what is necefifary, or of
what muft be.

We may know from experience, what is, or wliat
was, and from that may probably conclude what
fliall be in like circumftanccs ; but, with regard to
v.'hat mull neceffarily be, experience is perfectly
filent.

I'hus we know, by unvaried experience, from the
beginning of the world, that the fun and ftars rife
in the eaft and fet in the weft. But no man believes,
that it could not poflibly have been otherwife, or
that it did not depend upon the will and power of
him who made the world, whether the earth fliould
revolve to the eaft or to the weft.

In like manner, if we had experience, ever fo
conftant, that every change in nature we have ob-
lerved, actually had a caufe, this might afford ground
to believe, that, for the future, it fhall be fo ; but
no ground at all to believe that it muft be fo, and
cannot be otherwife.

Another reafon to fliew that this principle is not
learned from experience is. That experience does
not fliew us a caui'e of one in a hundred of thofe
changes which we obfervc, and therefore can never
teach us that there muft be a caufe of all.

Of all the paradoxes this author has advanced,
there is not one more fliocking to the human un-
derftanding than this, That things may begin to cx-
ift M'ithout a caufe. This would put an end to all
fpeculation, as well as to all thcbufinefs of life. The
employment of fpeculativc men, lincc the beginning
of the world, has been to inveftii^ate the cauies of
things. Wliat pity is it, they never thought of
putting the previous queftion. Whether things have
a caufe or not ? This queftion has at laft been ilarted;

and

32 ESSAY I. Chap. V.

and what is there fo ridiculous as not to be maintain-
ed l)y fbme Philofopher ?

Enoucfh lias been lliid upon it, and more, I think,
tlian it dclbrves. But, being about to treat of the
a(5live powers of the human mind, I thought it im-
proper to take no notice of what has been faid by
fo celebrated a Philofopher, to fliew, that there is
not, in the human mind, any idea of power.

CHAP. V.

Whether Beings that have no Will ?ior Under/landing may
have Adive Power ?

1 II A T active power is an attribute, which can-
not exift but in fome being pofleiled of that power,
and the fubjecl of that attribute, I take for granted
as a felf-evident iruth. Whether there can be active
power in a fubjecl which has no thought, no under-
ilanding, no will, is not fo evident.

The ambiguity of the words poxver, caiife, agent,
and of all the words related to thefe, tends to per-
plex this queftion. The weaknefs of human under-
ftanding, which gives us only an indirect and rela-
tive conception of power, contributes to darken our
reafoning, and fhould make us cautious and modeft
in our determinations.

We can derive little light in this matter from the
events which we obferve in the courfe of nature. —
We perceive changes innumerable in things without
us. We know that thofe changes muft be produced
by the aclive power of fome agent ; but we neither
perceive the agent nor the power, but the change
only. Whether the things be aclive, or merely

pafiive.

Of beings that have no UNDERSTANDING. 33

palfive, is not eafily difcovcred. And though it may-
be an object of curiofity to the fpeculative few, it
does not greatly concern the many.

To know the event and the circumftances that
attended it, and to know in what circumftances like
events may be expected, may be of confequence in
the conduct of life ; but to know the real eflicient,
whether it be matter or mind, whether of a fupcrior
or inferior order, concerns us little.

Thus it is with regard to all the effefts we afcribe
to nature.

Nature is the name we give to the efficient caufe of
innumerable effects which fall daily under our ob-
fervation. But if it be afked v*'hat nature is ? Whe-
tlfer the firft univerfal caufe, or a fubordinate one,
whether one or many, whether intelligent or unin-
telligent ? Upon thefe points we find various con-
jectures and theories, but no folid ground upon
which we can reft. And I apprehend the wifeft men
are they who are fenlible that they know nothing
of the matter.

From the courfe of events in the natural world,
we have fufficient reafon to conclude the exiftence of
an eternal intelligent Firft Caufe. But whether he
acts immediately in the production of thofe events,
or by fubordinate intelligent agents, or by inftru-
ments that arc unintelligent, and what the number,
the nature, and the different ofiices of thofe agents
or inftruments maybe ; thefe I apprehend to be myf-
tcrie.s placed beyond the limits of human knowledge.
We fee an eftablillied order in the fucceffion of na-
tural events, but we fee not the bond that connects
them together.

Since we derive fo little light, with regard to ef-
ficient caufes and their active power, from attention
to the natural world, let us next attend to the mo-
ral, I mean, to human actions and conduct.

Mr. LocKK obferves very iufily, " That, from
" the obfcrvation of the operation of bociics by our

C . " Icnfcs,

ESSAY I. Chap. V.

*' fenfes, we have but a very impcrfccl obfcurc idea
** of aclive power, fmce they aflbrd us not any idea
" in themfclves of the power to begin any action,
" either of motion or thought." He adds, " That
" we lind in ourfclvcs a power to begin or forbear,
*« continue or end fcveral adions of our minds and
" motions of our bodies, barely by a thought or
*' preference of the mind, ordering, or, as it were,
" commanding the doing or not doing fuch a par-
*« ticular action. This power which the m:ind has
" thus to order the confideration of any idea, or
" the forbearing to conlider it, or to prefer the
" motion of any part of the body to its reft, and
" 'vke vcrfa, in any particular inftance, is that v/hich
*« we call ibe ivill. The actual cxercifc of that pow-
*' er, by directing any particular action, or its
" forbearance, is that which we call volition or
" loil/ing."

According to Mr. Locke, therefore, tlie only
clear notion or idea we have of active power, is
taken from the power which we find in ourfelves to
give certain motions to our bodies, or a. certain di-
rection to our thoughts ; and this power in our-
felves can be brought into action only by willing or
volition.

From this, I think, it follows, that, if we had
not will, and that degree of underftanding which
will neceilariiy implies, we could exert no active
power, and confequently could have none : For
power that cannot be exerted is no power. It fol-
lows alfo, that the active power, of which only we
can have any diltinct conception, can be only in
beings that have underftanding and will.

Power to produce any eiicct implies power not to
produce it. We can conceive no "vvay in which
power may be determined to one of thcfe rather
than the other., in a being that has no v/iil.

Whatever is the effect of active power m.uft be
fomething that is contingent. Contingent exiftencc

Of beings that have no UNDERSTANDING. 35

IS tliat which depended upon the power and will of
its caufc. Oppofed to this, is nccellary exigence,
which we afcribe to the Supreme Being, becaufe his
exillence is not owing to the power of any being.
The fiimc diitinclion there u between continGTcnt
and necellary truth.

That the planets of our fyftem go round the fun
from well to eaft, is a contingent truth ; becaufe it
depended upon the power and will of him who
made the planetary fyllem, and gave motion to it.
That a circle and a right line can cut one another
only in two points, is a truth which depends upon
no power nor will, and therefore is called necelTary
and immutable. Contingency, tlierefore, has a re-
lation to active power, as all atlive povv^er is exerted
ill contingent events ; and as fuch events can have
no exiftence, but by the exertion of active power.

When I obferve a plant growing from its feed to
maturity, I know that there muft be a caufe that
has power to produce this effect. But I fee neither
the caufe nor the manner of its operation.

But in certain motions of my body and directions
of my thought, I know, not only that there mull
be a caufe that has power to produce thefe eiTecls,
but that I am that caufe ; and I am confcious of what
I do in order to the production of them.

I'Vom the confcioufnefs of our own activity, feems
to be derived, not only the cleareil, but the only-
conception v/e can form of activity, or tlie exertion
of active pou'cr.

As I am unable to form a notion of any intellectual
power different in kind from thofe I polTefs, the
fame holds with refpeft to active power. If all men
had been blind, we ihould have had no conception
or the power of feeing, nor any name for it in Ian-*
guage. If man had not the powers of abftraction
and roa finning, we could not have had any concep-
tion of thefe operations. In like manner, if he had
not fome degree of active power, and if he were not

C 2 confcious

36 E S S A Y I. Chav. V.

confcious of the exertion of it in his voluntary ac-
tions, it is probable he could have no conception of
activity, or of active power.

A train of events following one another ever fo
regularly, could never lead us to the notion of a
caufe, if we had not, from our conftitution, a
conviction of the neceflity of a caufe to every
event.

And of the manner in which a caufe may exert
its active power, we can have no conception, but
from confcioufneis of the manner in which our own
active power is exerted.

With regard to the operations of nature, it is
fufficient for us to know, that, whatever the agents
may be, whatever the manner of their operation, or
the extent of their power, they depend upon the
firft caufe, and are under his control ; and this in-
deed is all that we know ; beyond this we are left in
darknefs. But, in what regards human actions, we
have a more immediate concern.

It is of the higheft importance to us, as moral
and accountable creatures, to know what actions are
in our own power, becaufe it is for thefe only that
we can be accountable to our Maker, or to our fel-
low-men in fociety ; by thefe only we can merit
praife or blame ; in thefe only all our prudence,
wifdom and virtue mult be employed ; and, there-
fore, with regard to them, the wife Author of na-
ture has not left us in the dark.

Every man is led by nature to attribute to him-
felf the free determinations of his own will, and to
believe thofe events to be in his power which depend
upon his M'ill. On the other hand, it is felf-evident,
that nothing is in our power that is not fubject to
our will.

AVe grow from childhood to manhood, we digcit
our food, our blood circulates, our heart and ar-
teries beat, we are fometimes fick and fometimes in
health j all thefe things mult be done by the power

Of BEINGS that have no UNDERSTANDING. 37

of fome agent ; but they are not done by our pow-
er. How do wc know this ? Becaufc they are not
fubjecl to our will. This is the infallible criterion
by which we dillinguifli what is our doing from
what is not ; what is in our power from what is
not.

Human power, therefore, can only be exerted by
will, and we are unable to conceive any active power
to be exerted without will. Every man knows in-
fallibly that what is done by his confcious will and
intention, is to be imputed to him, as the agent or
caufe ; and that whatever is done without his will
and intention, cannot be imputed to him with
truth.

We judge of the actions and conduA of other
men by the fame rule as we judge of our own. In
niorals, it is felf-evidcnt that no man can be the
object either of approbation or of blame for what
lie did not. But how fhall wc know whether it is
Iiis doing or not .'' If the action depended upon his
will, and if he intended and willed it, it is his ac-
tion in the judgment of all mankind. But if it was
d'jne without his knowledge, or without his will
and intention, it is as certain that he did it not,
and that it ought not to be imputed to him as the
agent.

When there is any doubt to whom a particular
action ought to be imputed, the doubt arifes only
from our ignoriince of facts ; when the flicks relat-
ing to it are known, no man of underftanding has
any doubt to whom the action ought to be im-
puted.

The general rules of imputation are felf-evident.
They have been the fame in all ages, and among all
civilized nations. No man blames another for being
black or fair, for havinq; a fever or the fallins: fick-
ncfs ; becaufe thefe things arc believed not to be in
hi:j power ; and they are believed not to be in his
power, becaufe they depend not upon his will. Wc

cau

^8 E S S A Y I. CiiAP. V.

can never conceive that a man's duty goes beyond
his power, or that his power goes beyond what
depends upon his will.

Reaibn leads us to afcribe unlimited power to the
Supreme Being. But what do we mean by unlimit-
ed power ? It is power to do whatfocver he wills,
I'o ("uppol'e him to do what he do:;s not v/ill to do,
is abfurd.

The only diftinct conception I can form of active
power is, that it is an attribute in a being by which
he can do certain things if he wills. This, after all,
is only a relative conception. It is relative to the
eflccl, and to the will of producing it. Take away
thefe, and the conception vanifhcs. They are the
handles by which the mind takes hold of it. When
they are taken away, our hold is gone. The fame
is the cafe with regard to other relative conceptions.
Thus velocity is a real ftate of a body, about which
Philofophers reafon with the force of dcmonftr-cUion;
but our conception of it is relative to fpace and
time. What is velocity in a body ? It is a ftate in
which it palTes through a certain fpace in a certain
tim.e. Space and time are very different from velo-
city ; but we cannot conceive it but by its relation
to them. The efiect produced, and the will to pro-
duce it, are things different from aclive power,
but we can have no conception of it, but by its re-
lation to them.

Whether the conception of an ciikicnt caufe, and
of real activity, could ever have entered into the
mind of man, if we had not had the experience of
activity in ourfelves, 1 am not able to determine
with certainty. The origin of many of our concep-
tions, and even of many of our judgments, is not
fo cafily traced as Philolophers have gcnerallv ct^n-
ceived. No man can recollect the time when he iirft
got the conception of an eflicient caufe, or the time
when he firil got the belief that an elhcicnt cauie is
iiecclfary to every change in nature. The concep-
tion

Of beings that have no UNDERSTANDING. ^9

tion of an cflicient caufc may very probably be de-
rived from the experience wc have had in very early
life of our own power to produce certain efl'ccts. —
But the belief, that no event can happen without an
efficient caufe, cannot be derived from experience.
We may learn from experience what is, or what
was, but no experience can teach us what necciTarily
mull be.

In like manner, wc probably derive the concepti-
on of pain from the experience we have had of it
in ourfelves ; but our belief that pain can only exift
in a being that hath life, cannot be got by experi-
ence, becaufe it is a neceflliry truth ; and no ne-
cefTary truth can have its atteftation from experi-
ence.

If it be fo that the conception of an efficient caufe
enters into the mind, only from the early convic-
tion we have that we are the elUcients of our own
voluntary actions, (whicii I think is moil probable)
the notion of elliciency will be reduced to this. That
it is a relation between the caufe and the efFecl, fimi-
lir to that w^hich is between us and our voluntary
aflions. This is furcly the moft diftinct notion,
and, I think, the only notion we cao form of real
elliciency.

Now it is evident, that, to conftitute the relation
between me and my action, my conception of the
action, and will to do it, arc ciTcntial. For what I
never conceived, nor willed, I never did.

If any man, therefore, alarms, that a being may
be the efficient caufe of an action, and have power
to produce it, which that being can neither conceive
nor Vv'iil, he fpcaks a language which I do not un-
derftand. If he has a meaning, his notion of pow-
er and clficiency muft be cil'entially diil-jrent from
mine ; and, until he conveys his notion of efficiency
to my undcrllanding, I can no more aflent to liis
opinion, than if he ihouid affirm, that a being with-
{)ut life may feel pain.

40 ESSAY I. Chap. VI.

It fecms, therefore, to me moft probable, that
fuch beings only as have foir.c degree of underftand-
ing and will, can poficfs active power ; and that in-
animate beings muft be merely paflive, and have no
real acl:ivity. Nothing we perceive without us af-
fords any good ground for afcribing active power to
any inanimate being ; and every thing we can dil'co-
ver in our own conftitution, leads us to think, that
active power cannot be exerted without will and in-
teliitrcnce.

CHAP. VI.

Of ihe efficient Caufes of the Phcenotnena of Nature.

1 F active power, in its proper meaning, requires a
fubjecl endowed with will and intelligence, what
fliall we fay of thofe aclive powers which Philofo-
phers teach us to afcribe to matter ; the powers of
corpufcular attraction, magnetifm, electricity, gra-
vitation, and others ? Is it not univerfally allowed,
that heavy bodies defcend to the earth by the power
of gravity ; that, by the fame power, the moon, and
all the planets and comets, are retained in their or-
bits ? Have the moft eminent natural Philofophers
been impofmg upon us, and giving us words inftead
of. real caufes ?

In anfwer to this, I apprehend, that the principles
of natural philofophy have, in modern times, been
built upon a foundation that cannot be fhaken,
and that they cannot be called in queftion only by
thofe who do not underftand the evidence on which
they ftand. But the ambiguity of the words catfe,
agency, ndive power, and the other words related to
thefe, has led many to underftand them, when ufed
in natural philofophy, in a wrong fcnfc, and in afenfc

which

OF THE PHtENOMENA OF NATURE! 41

which is ncitlicr neccil'ary for eftablifliing the true
principles of natural philoibphy, nor was ever meant
by the moft enlightened in that fcience.

To be convinced of this, we may obferve, that
thofe very Philofophers wiio attribute to matter the
power of gravitation, and other active powers, teacli
us, at the fame time, that matter is a fubllance alto-
gether inert, and merely pafiive ; that gravitation,
and the other attractive or repuHive powers which
they afcribe to it, are not inherent in its nature, but
impreifed upon it by fome external caufe, which they
do not pretend to know, or to explain. Now, when
we find wife men afcribing acliou and active power
to a fubftance which they exprefsly teach us to con-
fider as merely paflive and acted upon by fome un-
known caufe, we muil conclude, that the action and
active power afcribed to it are not to be underftood
ftrictly, but in fome popular fenfe.

It oucrlit likewifc to be obferved, that althouQ:h
Philofophers, for the fake of being underftood, m.uit
fpeak the language of the vulgar, as when they fay,
the fun rifes and lets, and goes through all the figns
of the zodiac, yet they often think differently from
the vulgar. Let us hear what the greateft of natural
Philofophers fays, in the 8th definition prefixed to
his Prificipia, " Voces autem attractionis, impulfus,
" vel propenfionis cujufcunque in centrum, indiffer-
" enter et pro fe mutuo promifcue ufurpo ; has
" voces non phyfice fed mathematice confiderando.
" Unde caveat le(5tor, ne per hujus modi voces cogi-
*' tet me fpeciem vel modum aftionis, caufamve aut
" rationem phyficam, alicubi defmire ; vel centris
" (quae funt puncta mathematica) vires vere et phy-
" fice tribuere, fi forte centra trahere, aut vires cen-
" trorum elTe, dixcro."

In all languages, acftion is attributed to many
things which all men of common underltanding be-
lieve to be merely, pafiive; thus we fay, the wind
blows, the rivers flow, the fca rages, the lire burns,
bodies move, and impel other bodies.

Every

42 * E S S A Y I. Chap. VI.

Every objccl which undergoes any ch.ingc, muft
he eitlier active or pafiive in that change. This is
fclf-evidcnt to all men from the firft dawn of reafon ;
and therefore the change is always exprelled in lan-
guage, either by an active or a paflive verb. Nor
cto 1 know any verb, exnrcfiive of a change, which
does not imply either action or pailion. I'he thing
cither changes, or it is changetl. But it is remarkable
in language, thatwhen an external caufe of the change
is not obvious, the change is always imputed to the
thing changed, as if it were animated, and had ac-
tive powTr to produce the change in itfeif. So w^e
fay, the moon changes, the fun rifes and goes down.
Thus active verbs are very often applied, and ac-
tive power imputed to things, which a little advance
in knowledge and experience teaches us to be merely
paflive. This property, common to all languages,
I endeavoured to account for in the fecond chapter
of this Effay, to which the reader is referred.

A like irregularity may be obfervcd in the ufe of
the word, fignifying arufc^ iu all languages, and of
the words related to it.

Our knowledge of caufes is very fcanty in the mod
advanced ftate of fociety, much more is it fo in that
early period in which language is fof med. A ftrong
defire to know the caufes of things, is common to
all men in every ftate ; but the experience of all ages
lliews, that this keen appetite, rather than go empty,
will feed upon the hulks of real knowledge where
the fruit cannot be found.

While we are very much in the dark with regard
to the real agents or caufes which produce the phze-
jiomena of nature, and have, at the lame lime, an avi-
dity to know them, ingenious men frame conje'ffures,
which thcvfe of weaker underftanding take for truth.
The fare is coarfe, but appetite makes it go down.

Thus, in a very ancient fyilem, love and ftrife
were made the caules of things. Pl.ato made the
caufes of things to hz matter, ideas, and an cfiicient

architecl*

OF THE ni^l'NOMENA OF NATURE.

architect. Aristotle, matter, form, and privati-
on. Des Cartes thought matter, and a certain
quantity of motion given it by the Almighty at lirft,
to be all that is ncceilliry to make the matericd world.
Leibnit'/ conceived tlie whole univerfe, even the
material part of it, to be made up of monades, each
of which is active and intelligent, and produces in
itfelf, by its own active power, all the changes it
undergoes from the beginning of its exiftence to
eternity.

In common language, we give the name of a caufe
to a reafon, a motive, an end, to any circumftance
which is connected with the effect, and goes before it.

Aristotle, and the fchoolmen after him, diftin-
guifiied four kinds of caufes, the eflicient, the ma-
terial, the formal, and the final. This, like many
of Aristotle's diftinctions, is only a dlllinction of
the various meanings of an ambiguous v\'ord ; for
the ellicient, the maitcr, the form and the end, have
nothing common in their nature, by which they
may be accounted fpecies of the fame genus ; but the
Greek word which v/e tranflate caufc, had thefefour
different meanings in Aristotle's days, and we
liave added other meanings. We do not indeed call
the matter or the form of a thing its caufe; but we
hav^e liiial caufes, inllrumental caufes, occafional
caufes, and I know not liow many others.

T'hus the word caufe has been ib hackneyed, and
made to have fo manv different meaning's in the
writings of Pliilofoplicrs, and in the difcourfe of the
vulgar, that its original and proper meaning is loft
in the crowd.

With regard to tlie phanomena of nature, the
important end of knowing their caufes, befides gra-
tifying our curiofity, is, that we may know when
to expect them, or how to bring them about. This
is very often of real importance in life ; and this
purpofe is ferved, by knowing what, by the courfe
Qi nature, goes before them and is connected M'itii

thcui i

44 E S S A Y I. Cm A p. VI.

them ; and this, therefore, we call the caiife of fuch
a phenomenon.

If a magnet be brought near to a mariner's com-
paf^, the needle, which w^as before at roll, immedi-
ately bea;ins to move, and bends it3 courfe towards
the magnet, or perhaps tnc contrary way. If an
unlearned failor is alked the caufe of this motion of
the needle, he is at no lofs for an anfwcr. He tells
you it is the magnet ; and the proof is clear ; for,
remove the magnet, and the effect ceafes ; bring it
near, and the efifect is again produced. It is, there-
fore, evident to fcnfe, that the magnet is the caufe
of this effecl:.

A Cartefian Philofopher enters deeper into the
caufe of this phsenomenon. He obferves, that the
magnet does not touch the needle, and therefore
can give it no impujfe. He pities the ignorance of
the failor. The effect is produced, fays he, by niag-
netic effluvia, or fubtile matter, which paffes from
the magnet to the needle, and forces it from its place.
Ke can even fliew you, in a figure, where thefc
magnetic effluvia iffue from the magnet, what round
they take, and what way they return home again.
And thus he thinks he comprehends perfectly how,
and by what caufe, the motion of the needle is pro-
duced.

A Newtonian Philofopher enquires what proof
can be offered for the exiftence of magnetic cflluvia,
and can find none. He therefore holds it as a fiction,
a hypothecs ; and he has learned that hypothcles
ought to have no place in the philofophy of nature.
He confcffes his ignorance of the real caufe of this
motion, and thinks, that his buiinefs, as a Philofo-
pher, is only to find from experiment the laws by
which it is regulated in all cafes.

Thefe three perfons differ much in their fentiments
wlrh regard to the real caufe of this ph:tnomenou;
and tlic man who knows molt is ho who is fcnlible
that he knows nothing of the matter. Yet all the

throe

OF THE PHiENOMENA OF NATURE. 45

three fpeak the fame language, and acknowledge,
that the caufe of this motion is the attradive or rc-
pulfive power of the magnet.

What has been faid of this, may be applied to
every phssnomenon that falls within the compafs of
natural philofophy. We deceive ourfelves, if we
conceive, that we can point out the real efiicicnt
caufe of any one of them.

The grandefl difcovery ever made In natural phi-
lofophy, was that of tlie law of gravitation, which
opens fuch a viev/ of our planetary fyftem, that it
looks like fom.ething divine. But the author of this
difcovery was perfectly aware, that he difcovered no
real caufe, but only the lav/ or rule, according to
which the unknown caufe operates.

Natural Philofophers, who think accurately, have
a precife meaning to the terms they ufe in the fci-
ence ; and when they pretend to fhew the caufe of
any phaenomenon of nature, they mean by the caufe,
a law of nature of which that phsenomenon is a nc-
cefTary confequence.

The whole object of natural philofophy, as New-
ton exprefsly teaches, is reducible to thefe two
heads ; firft, by juft induclion from experiment and
obfervation, to difcover the laws of nature, and
then to apply thofc laws to the foiution of the phns-
nomena of nature. This was ail that this great Phi-
lofopher attempted, and all that he thought attaina-
ble. And this indeed he attained in a great meafure,
with regard to the motions of bur planetary fyftem,
and with regard to the rays of light.

But fuppoling that all the plicenomcna that fall
within the reach of our fenfes, were accounted for
from general laws of nature, juftly deduced from
experience ; that is, fuppofmg natural philofophy
brought to its utmoft perfedion, it does not difco-
ver the efficient caufe of any oncph.xnomenon in
nature.

The

a6 E S S a Y I. Chap. VL

The laws of nature are the rules accordinoj to
which the ciTecls are produced ; but there uiuit be a
caule which operates according to thefe rules. The
rules of navic^ation never navigated a fliip. The
rules of architeclure never built a houfe.

Natural philofophers, by great attention to the
courfe of nature, have difcovered many of her laws,
and have very happily applied them to account for
many pha.nomcna ;. but they have never difcovered
the efllcicnt caufe of any one pheenomenon ; nor do
thofe who have dillinct notions of the principles of
the fcience, make any fuch pretence.

Upon the theatre of nature we fee innumerable
effects, wliich require an agent endowed with active
power ; but the agent is behind the fcene. Whether
it be the Supreme Caufe alone, or a fubordinate caufe
or caufcs ; and if fubordinate caufes be employed by
the Almighty, what their nature, their number, and
their different offices may be, are things hid, for
wife reafons without doubt, from the human eye.

It is only in human actions, that may be imputed
for praife or blamie, that it is ncccirary for us to
know who is the agent; and in this, nature has
given us all the light that is neceffary for our con-
duct.

C II A P.

OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 47

CHAP. VII.

Of the Extent of Human Pozuer.

JLLVERY thing laudable and praife -worthy in man,
muft conlift in the proper exercife of that power
which is given him by his Maker. This is the talent
which he is required to occupy, and of which he
muft o-ive an account to him who committed it to

his truft.

To fome perfons more power is given than to
others ; and to the fame pcrion more at one time and
lefs at another. Its exiftence, its extent, and its
continuance, depend lolely upon the pleafureof the
Almighty ; but every man that is accountable muft
have more or lefs of it. For, to call a perfon to ac-
count, to approve or difapprovc of his conduct, who
had no power to do good or ill, is abfurd. No axiom
of Euclid appears more evident than this.

As power is a valuable girt, to undcr-rate it is in-
gratitude to the giver ; to over-rate it, begets pride
and prefumption, and leads to unfuccefsful attempts.
It is therefore, in every man, a point of wifdom to
make a juft cftimatc of his own power. £lnld ferre
recufcnt, quid valcant humeri.

We can only fpeak.of the power of man in gene-
ral ; and as our notion of power is relative to its
cffecis, we can eftimate its extent only by the effects
which it is able to produce.

It would be wrong to eftimate the extent of hu-
man power by the effects v/hich it has actually pro-
duced. For every man had power to do many things
wliich he did not, and not to do many things which
he did; othcrwife he could not be an object cither of
approbation or of dii'approbation, to any rational

being.

Th(

48 ESSAY I. Chap. VII.

The eflccls of human power are either immediate,
or they are more remote.

The immediate effects, I think, are reducible to
two heads. We can give certain motions to our
own bodies ; and we can give a certain direction to
our own thoughts.

Whatever we can do beyond this, muft be done
by one of thefe means, or both.

We can produce no motion in any body in the
univerfe, but by moving lirft our own body as an
inftrumcnt. Nor can we produce thought in any
other perfon, but by thought and motion in our-
felves.

Our power to move our own body, is not only
limited in its extent, but in its nature is fubjecl to
mechanical laws. It may be compared to a fpring
endowed with the power of contracting or expand-
ing itfelf, but which cannot contract without draw-
ing equally at both ends, nor expand without pufh-
ing equally at both ends ; fo that every action of the
fpring is always accompanied with an equal reaction
in a contrary direction.

Wc can conceive a man to have power to move
his whole body in any direction, without the aid of
any other body, or a power to move one part of his
body without the aid of any other part. But phi-
lofophy teaches us that njian has no fuch power.

If he carries his whole body in any direction with
a certain quantity of motion, this he can do only by
pufhing the earth, or fome other body, A^ith an
equal quantity of motion in the contrary direction.
If he but ftretch out his arm in one direction, the
reft of his body is puflied with an equal quantity of
motion in the contrary direction.

This is the cafe with regard to all animal and vo-
luntary motions, which come within the reach of
our fenfes. They are performed by the contraction
of certain mufcles ; and a mufcle, when it is con-
tracted, draws equally at both ends. As to the mo-
tions

OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 4c)

tlons antecedent to the contraclion of the mufcle,
and confequent upon the volition of the animal, wc
know nothing, and can fay nothing about them.

We know not even how thofe immediate eiibcls of
our power are produced by our willing them. We
perceive not any neceflary connection between the
volition and exertion on our part, and the motion
of our body that follows them.

Anatomift;: inform us, that every voluntary mo-
tion of the body is performed by the contraclion of
certain mufcles, and that the mufcles are contracfled
by fome influence derived from the nerves. But,
without thinkinsf in the leall, either of mufcles or
nerves, we will only the external eftecl, and the in-
ternal machinery, without our call, immediately
produces that effect.

This is one of the wonders of our frame, which
we have reafon to admire ; but to account for it, is
beyond the reach of our underftanding.

That there is an eftablilhed harmony betw^een our
willing certain motions of our bodies, and the ope-
ration of the nerves and mufcles which produces
thole motions, is a fact known by experience. This
volition is an act of the mind. But whether
this act of the mind have any phylical effect upon
the nerves and mufcles ; or whether it be only an oc-
cafion of their being acted "Upon by fome other effi-
cient, according to the eftablilhed laws of nature,
is hid from us. So dark is our conception of our
own power when we trace it to its origin.

We have good reafon to believe, that matter had
its origin from mind, as well as all its motions ; but
how, or in what manner, it is moved by mind, we
know as little as how it was created.

It is poffiblc therefore, for any thing we know,
that what we call the immediate effects of our power,
may not be ih in the Itriclelc fcnfe. Between the
will to produce the cffecT, and the production of it,
there may be agents or inftruments of which we are

Ignorant.

D This

50 K S S A Y I. Chap. VIT.

This miy leave fome doubt, whether we be in the
ftrictcft i'c^nfe. tlie cllicicnt cuufe of the voluntary-
motions of our own body. But it can produce no
doubt with recrard to the moral cllimation of our

adiions.

The man who knows that fuch an event depends
upon his will, and who deliberately wills to produce
it, is, in the flriclcft moral fcnfc, the caufe of the
event ; and it is juilly imputed to him, whatever
phylical caufes may have concurred in its produc-
tion.

'I hus, he who malicioufly intends to ihoot his
neighbour dead, and v(;luntarily does it, is undoubt-
edly the caufe of his death, though he did no more
to occafion it than draw the trigger of the gun. He
neither gave to the ball its velocity, nor to the pow-
der its expanfive force, nor to tlie flint and fteel the
power to ilrike fire ; but he knew that what he did
muft be followed by the man's death, and did it with
that intention ; and therefore he is juftly chargeable
wich the murder.

Philofophers may therefore difpute innocently,
whether \vc be the proper elTicient caufes of the vo-
luntary niotions of our own body ; or whether we
be only, as Malebranche tliinks, the occafional
caufes. The determination of this queftion, if it
can be determined, can have no effect on human
conducl.

'I'he other branch of what is immediately in our
power, is to give a certain direction to our own
thoughts. This, as well as tlie hrR branch, is limit-
ed in various ways. It is greater in fome perfons
than in otlicrs, and in the lame perfun is very diffe-
rent, according to the hcnlth of his body, and the
ilate of his mind. But that men, when free from
diicafe of body and of mind, have a confiderable
degree of power of this kind, and th;it it may be
greatly incrcafcJ by practice and habit, is fullicient-

OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 51

ly evident from experience, and from the natural
conviction of all mankind.

Were we to examine minutely into the connecti-
on between our volitions, and the direction of our
thoughts which obeys thefe volitions ; were we to
confider how we are able to sfive attention to an ob-
jecf for a certain time, and turn our attention to
another we chufe, we might perhaps find it difficult
to determine, whether the mind itfelf be the fole
efficient caufe of the voluntary changes in the di-
rection of our thoughts, or whether it requires the
aid of other efficient caufes.

I fee no good reafon why the difpute about effici-
ent and occafional caufes, may not be applied to the
power of directing our thoughts, as well as to the
power of moving our bodies. In both cafes, I ap-
prehend the difpute is endlefs, and, if it could be
brought to an iiiue, would be fruitlefs.

Nothing appears more evident to our reafon, than
that there mult be an efficient caufe of every change
that happens in nature. But when I attempt to com-
prehend the manner in which an efficient caufe ope-
rates, either upon body or upon mind, there is a
darknefs which my faculties are not able to pene-
trate.

However fmall the immediate effi^cls of human
power fcem to be, its more remote effi:cts are very
confidcrable.

In this rcfpecl, the power of man may be com-
pared to the Nile, the Ganges, and other great ri-
vers, which make a figure upon the globe of the
earth, and, traverfing vaft regions, bring fometimes
great benefit, at other times great mifchief to many
nations ; yet, when we trace thofe rivers to theu*
fource, we find them to rife from inconfidcrable
fountains and rills.

The command of a mighty prince, what is it, but
the fi)und of his breath, modified by his organs of
fpeech ? But it may have great confequenccs ;' it may

D 2 raife

52 i: S S A Y I. Chap. VIL

raifc armies, equip fleets, and fpread war and defo-
lation over a great part of the earth.

The meancft of mankind has confidcrable power
to do good, and more to hurt himfelf and others.

From this I think we may conclude, that, al-
though the degeneracy of mankind be great, and
juftly to be lamented, yet men, in general, are more
difpofed to employ their power in doing good, than
in doing hurt to their fellow-men. The laft is much
more in their power than the firft ; and, if they
were as much difpofed to it, human fociety could
not fubfift, and the fpecies muft foon perilh from the
earth.

We may firft confider the eflecls wliich may be
produced by human power upon the material fyftem.

It is confined indeed to the planet which we inha-
bit; we cannot remove to another; nor can we pro-
duce any change in the annual or diurnal motions
of our own.

But, by human power, great changes may be
made upon the face of the earth; and thofe treafures
of metals and minerals that are ftored up in its
bowels, may be difcovcred and brought forth.

The Supreme Being could, no doubt, have made
the earth to fupply the wants of man, without any
cultivation by human labour. Many inferior ani-
mals, who neither plant, nor fow, nor fpin, arc
provided for by the bounty of Heaven. But this is
not the cafe with man.

He has aclive powers and ingenuity given him, by
which he can do much for fupplying his wants ; and
his labour is made necellary for that purpofe.

His wants are more than thofe of any other ani-
mal that inhabits this globe ; and his refources are
proportioned to them, and put within the fphere of
his power.

• The earth is l^ft by nature in fuch aftate as to re-
quire cultivation for the accommodation of man.

OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 53

It is capable of cultivation, in nioft places, to fuch
a degree, that, by human labour, it may alTord fub-
fiftence to an liuiidred times the number of men it
could in its natural ftate.

Every tribe of men, in every climate, muft la-
bour for their fubliftence and accommodation ; and
their fupply is more or lefs comfortable, in propor-
tion to the labour properly employed for that pur-
pofe.

It is evidently the intention of Nature, that mi a
fliould be laborious, and that he fliould exert his
powers of body and mind for his own, and for the
common good. And, by his power properly ap-
plied, he may make great improvement upon the
fertility of the earth, and a great addition to his
own accommodation and comfortable ftate.

By clearing, tilling and manuring the ground, by
planting and fowing, by building cities anj harbours,
draining marfhes and lakes, making rivers naviga-
ble, and joining them by canals, by manufatluring
the rude materials which the earth, duly cultivated,
produces in abundance, by the mutual exchange of
commodities and of labour, he may make the barren
wildcrncfs the habitation of rich and populous ilates.

If we compare the city of Venice, the province of
Holland, the empire of China, with thole places of
the earth which never felt the hand of indufcry, wci*
may form fome conception of the extent of human^
power upon the material fyftem, in changing the
face of the earth, and furnifliing the accommodati-
ons of human life-

But, in order to produce thofe happy changes,
man himfelf nmft be improved.

Mis animal faculties are fuflicient for the prefer-
vation of the fpecies; they grow up of themfelves,
like the trees of the foreft, which require only the
force of nature and the influences of Heaven.

His rational and moral faculties, like the earth it-
felf, are rude and barren by nature, but capable of a

high

54 E S S A Y T. Chap. VII.

high degree of culture ; and this culture he mull
receive from parents, from inftruclors, from thofe
with whom he lives in fociety, joined with his own
induftry.

If we confider the changes that may be produced
by man upon his ov.m mind, and upon the minds of
others, they appear to be great.

Upon his own mind he may make great improve-
ment, in acquiring the treafures of ufeful know-
ledge, the habits of fkill in arts, the habits of wif-
dom, prudence, fclf-command, and every other
virtue. It is the conftitution of nature, that fuch
qualities as exalt and dignify human nature arc to
be acquired by proper exertions ; and, by a contrary
conduct, fuch qualities as debafe it below the con-
dition of brutes.

Even upon the minds of others, great effects may
be producod by means within the compafs of human
power ; by means of good education, of proper
inftruclion, of perfualion, of good example, and by
the difcipline ot laws and government.

That thefe have often had great and good effects
on the civilization and imiprovement of individuals,
and of nations, cannot be doubted. But what hap-
py effects they might have, if applied univerfally
with the fkill and addrefs that is within the reach of
human widom and power, is not eafily conceived,
or to what pitch the happinefs of human fociety,
and the improvement of the fpecies, might be
carried.

What a noble, what a divine employment of hu-
man power is here affigned us ^ How ought it to
roufe the ambition of parents, of inftruclors, of
lawgivers, of magiftrates, of every man in his fta-
tion, to contribute his part towards the accomplifh-
ment of fo pjlorious an end ?

The

OF THE EXTENT OF IIUiMAN POWER. 55

The power of man ov^er his own and other minds,
when we trace it to its origin, is involved in dark-
nefs, no Icfs than his power to move his own and
other bodies.

How far we are properly eflicient caufes, how
how far occafional caufes, I cannot pretend to de-
termine.

We know that habit produces great clianges in
the mind ; but how it does lb, we know not. We
know, tliat example has a powerful, and, in tlie
early period of life, aimoil an irrefiftible effecl ;
but we know not how it produces this eiTect. The
communication of thouglu, fentiment and paflion,
from one mind to another, has fomething in it as
niyltcrious as the communication of motion from
one body to another.

We perceive one event to follow another, accord-
ing to ellablilhed lav/s of nature, and we are accuf-
tomed to call the firll the caufe, and the laft the
effect, without knowing what is the bond that unites
them. In order to produce a certain event, we ufc
means which, by laws of nature, are connected with
that event ; and we call ourfelves the caufe of that
event, though other efiicicnt caufes may have had
the chief hand in its production.

Upon the whole, human power, in its exiftencc,
in its extent, and in its exertions, is entirely de-
pendent upon God, and upon the laws of nature
which he has cftabliihcd. This ought to banifh
pride and arrogance from tlie mod mighty of the
ions of men. At the fame time, that degree of
power which we have received from the bounty of
Heaven, is one ol t!ie nobleft gifts of God to man;
of which we ought not to be infenhble, that we may
not be ungratefid, and that we may be excited to
make the proper ufe of it.

The extent of human power is pcrfeftly fuited to
the llate of man, as a Hate of improvement and

difcipline.

56 E S S A Y I. Chap. VII.

difcipllne. It is fufiicient to animate us to the
nobleft exertions. By the proper exercife of this
gift of God, human nature, in individuals and in
focietics, may be exalted to a high degree of dignity
and felicity, and the earth become a paradifc. On
the contrary, its perverfion and abufe is the caufc
of moft of the evils that afllicl human life.

ESSAY

ESSAY 11.

OF THE WILL.

CHAP. I.

Obfervations concerning the Will.

rLVERY man is confcious of a power to deter-
mine, in things which he conceives to depend upon
his determination. To this power we give the name
of ivill ; and, as it is ufual, in the operations of the.
mind, to give the fame name to the power and to
the acl of that power, the term ivill is often put to.
fignify the acl of determining, v/hich mojr e properly
is called njolition. ■.

Volition, therefore, fignilies the act of willing,
and determining, and will is put indifferently to fig-,
nify either the power of willing or the acl. .j

But the term luill has very often, efpecially in the
writings of Philofophers, a more extcnfivc meaning,
which we muft carefully diftinguifh from that which
we have now given.

In the general divifion of our faculties into under-
flanding and will, our paflions, appetites and affec-
tions arc comprehended under the will ; and fo it is
made to fignify, not only our determination to acl
or not to ad, but every motive and incitement to
action.

58 K S S A Y II. Chap. I.

It h this, probably, that has led foinc Philofophers
to rcprclciit dclirc, avtriion, hope, fear, joy, for-
row, all our appetites, paflions and afl'eclions, as
different modifications of the will, which, I think,
tends to confound things which are very different in
their nature.

The advice given to a man, and his determination
confequent to that advice, arc things fo different in
their nature, that it would be improper to call them
modifications of one and the fame thing. In like
manner, the motives to action, and the determina-
tion to acb or not to acl, are things that have no
common nature, and therefore ought not to be con-
founded under one name, or reprefented as different
modifications of the fame thing.

For this rcafon, in fpeaking of the will in this
Effay, I do not comprehend under that term any of
the incitements or motives which may have an in-
fluence upon our determinations, but folcly the de-
termination itfelf, and the power to determine.

Mr. Locke has confidercd this operation of the
mind more attentively, and diftinguiflied it m.ore
accurately, than fome very ingenious authors who
wrote after him.

He defines volition to be, " An ac'> of the mind
*' knowingly exerting that dominion it takes itfelf
" to have over any part of the man, by employing
*« it in, or with-holding it from any particular
«* aclion."

It may more briefly be defined, The determination
of the mind to do, or not to do fomething wliich
we conceive to be in our power.

If this were given as a ftriclly logical definition, it
would be liable to this objeclion, that the determi-
nation of the mind is only another term for volition.
But it ought to be obl'ervcd, that the moll fimple
acts of the mind do not admit of a logical definition.
The way to form a clear notion of them is, to re-
flect attentively upon them as we feel them in our-

fclves.

OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING the WILL. 59

lelves. Without this refleclion, no definition can
give us a dillinct conception of them.

For this rcafou, rather than lift any definition of
the will, I fliall make fome obfervations upon it,
which may lead us to reflect upon it, and to diflin-
guifh it from other acfts of mind, which, from the
ambiguity of words, are apt to be confounded
with it.

FirjU Every act of will muft have an objecl. He
that wills mull will fomething ; and that which he
wills is called the object of his volition. As a man
cannot think without thinking of fomething, nor
remember without remembering fomething, lb nei-
ther can he will without wiliing fomething. Every
acT: of will, therefore, mull have an object ; and the
perfon who wills muil have fome conception, more
or lefs diftinct, of what he will.,.

By this, things done voluntarily are diftinguifhed
from things done merely from inftinct, or merely
from hahir.

A healthy child, fome hours after its birth, feels
the fenfation of hunger, and, if applied to the
breaft, fucks and fwallows its food very perfecbly. —
We have no reafon to think, that, before it ever
fucked, it has any conception of that complex ope-
ration, or how it is performed. It cannot, there-
fore, with propriety, be faid, that it wills lo
fuck.

Numberlefs inftances might be given of things
done by animals v/ithout any previous conception of
what they arc to do ; without the intention of doing
it. They ad: by fome inward blind im.pulfe, of which
the efficient caufe is hid from us ; and thounrh
there is an end evidently intended by the action,
this intention is not in the animal, but in its
Maker.

Other things are done by habit, which cannot
properly be called voluntary. We (hut our eves
iwerul times every minute while wc are av/ake ; no

man

6o E S S A Y 11. Chap. I.

man is confcious of willing this every time he does
it.

A fecond oof?rvation is, Th;it the imiTicdiate ob-
ject of will muft be fonie action of our own.

By this, will is diftinguifhed from two acts of the
mind, which fomc'dmes take its name, and thereby
are apt to be confounded with it ; thcfe are dcfuc
and command.

The diftindion between will and defire has been
well explained by Mr. Locke ; yet many later writers
have ovcrlooJsed it, and have reprefented defire as a
modification of will.

Defire and will agree in this, tliat both muft have
an object, of which we muft have fome conception;
and therefore both muft be accompanied with fomc
degree of underftanding. But they differ in feveral
things.

The objecl of defire may be any thing which ap-
petite, paiTion or aflection, leads us to purine ; it
may be any event w^hich we think good for us, or
for thofe to whom we are well affected. I may de-
fire meat, or drink, or eafe from pain : But to fay
that I will meat, or will drink, or will eafe from
pain, is not Englifli. There is therefore a diftinclion
in common language between delire and will. And
the diftincfion is,That what we will muft be an action,,
aiid our own action ; what we defire may not be our
own action, it may be no action at all.

A m.an defires that his children may be happy,
and that they may behave well, i heir being happy
is no adion at all ; their behaving well is not his-
action but theirs.

With regard to our own actions, wc may dcfirc;
what we do not will, and will what we do not defire^.
nay, what wo. have a great avcrfion to.

A man a-thirft has a ftrong delire to drink, but,
for fome particular, reafon, he determines not to
gratify his defire. A judge, from a regard to juf-
iice, and to the duty of his oilke, dooms a criminal

OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING- the WILL. 6t

to die, while, from humanity or particular affection,
he defircs that he ftiould live. A man for health
may take a naufeous draught, for which he has no
defire but a great av^erfion. Defire therefore, even
when its object is fome aclion of our own, is only
an incitement to will, but it is not volition. The
determination of the mind may be, not to do what
wc dchre to do. But as defire is often accompanied
by will, we are apt to overlook the diftinclion be-
tween them.

The command of a perfon is fometimes called his
^vill, fometimes his dcllre ; but when thclc words
are ufed properly, they fignify three different acts of
the mind.

The immediate object of will is fome action of
our own ; the object of a command is fome action
of another perfon, over whom we claim authority ;
the object of delire may be no action at all.

In giving a command all thefe acts concur ; and
as they go together, it is not uncommon in language,
to give to one the name which properly belongs to
another.

A command being a voluntary aclion, there muft
be a will to give the command : Some defire is com-
monly the motive to that act of will, and the com-
mand is the effect of it.

Perhaps it may be thought that a command is only
a defire exprefl'cd by language, that the thing com-
manded ihould be done. But it is not fo. For a
defire may be exprefied by language when there is
no command ; and there may poflibly be a com-
mand without any defire that the thing commanded
Ihould be done. There have been initanccs of ty-
rants who have laid grievous commands upon their
fubjects, in order to reap the penalty of their dif-
obedicnce, or to furnilh a pretence for their punifli-
ment.

We might farther obfcrve, that a command is a
fecial act of the mind. It can have no exiftencc but

64 ESSAY IL Chap. I.

by a communication of thought to fome intelligent
being ; and therefore implies a belief that there is
fuch a being, and that we can communicate our
thoughts to him.

Dciire and will arc folitary acts, which do not
imply any fuch communication or belief.

The immediate objccl of volition therefore, muft
be fome action, and our own aclion.

A third obfcrvation is. That the objccl of our vo-
lition muft be fomething which we believe to be in
our power, and to depend upon our will.

A man may delire to make a vifit to the moon, or
to the planet Jupiter, but he cannot will or deter-
mine to do it ; becaufe he knows it is not in his
power. If an infane perfon fliould make an attempt,
his infanity muft firft make him believe it to be
ia his power.

A man in his fleep may be ftruck with a palfy,
which deprives him of the power of fpcech ; when
he av.'akes, he attempts to fpeak, not knowing that
he has loft the power. But when he knows by ex-
perience that the power is gone, he ceafes to make
the effort.

The fame man, knowing that fome perfons have
recovered the power of fpeech after they had loft it
by a paralytical ftroke, may now and then make an
effort. In this eflbrt, however, there is not pro-
perly a will to fpeak, but a will to try whether he
can fpeak or not.

In like manner, a man may exert his ftrength to
raife a weight which is too heavy for him. But he
always does this, either from the- belief that he can
raife the weight, or for a trial whether he can or
not. It is evident therefore, that what we will muft
be believed to be in our power, and to depend upon
our will.

The ^^-.v/ obfervation is. That when we will lo do
a thing immediately, the volition is accompanied
with an ctfort to execute that which we willed.

OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING the WILL. 63

If a man wills to ralfc a great weight from the
ground by the ftrength of his arm, he makes an
effort for that purpofe proportioned to the weight
he determines to raife. A great weight requires a
great clTort ; a fmall weight a lefs efibrt. We fay
indeed, that to railc a very fmall body requires no
effort at all. But this, I apprehend, muft be under-
flood either as a figurative way of fpeaking, by
which things very fmall are accounted as nothing ;
or it is owing to our giving no attention to very
fmall efforts, and therefore having no name for
them.

Great efforts, whether of body or mind, are at-
tended with difficulty, and when long continued
produce laffitude, which requires that they fhould
be intermitted. This leads us to refle<51: upon them
and to give them a name. The name effort is com-
monly appropriated to them ; and thofe that are
made with cafe, and leave no fenfible effeft, pafs
without obfervation and without a name, though
they be of the fame kind, and differ only in degree
from thofe to whicli the name is given.

This effort we are conl'cious of, if we will but
give attention to it ; and there is nothing in which
we are in a more ffrirl ienfe active.

The Uiji obfervation is. That in all determinations
of the mind that are of any importance, there
muft be fomething in the preceding ftate of the
mind that difpofes or inclines us to that determi-
nation.

If the mind were always in a ftate of perfect in-
difference, without any incitement, motive, or rea-
fon, to ad:, or not to acl, to act one way rather thaa
another, our a<flive power, having no end to purfue,
no rule to direct its exertions, would be given in
vain. We fliould either be altogether inaciivc, and
never will to do any thing, or our \ dlitions would
be perfectly unmeaning and futile, being neither
wife nor foolilli, virtuous nor vicious.

64 ESSAY II. Chap. II.

Wc have reafon therefore to think, that to every
bein^^ to whom Gon hath given any degree of active
power, he hath alfo given fome principles of action,
for the direction of that power to the end for which
it was intended.

It is evident that, in the conftitution of man,
there are various principles of action fuited to our
ftate and fituation. A particular confideration of
thefe is the fubject of the next eflay ; in this we are
only to conlider them in general, with a view to
examine the relation they bear to volition, and how
it is influenced by them.

CHAP. II.

Of the Influence of Incitements and Motives upon the Will.

W E come into the world ignorant of every thing,
yet we muft do many things in order to our fub-
iillence and well-being. A new-born child may be
carried in arms, and kept warm by his nurfe ; but
he muft fuck and fwallow his food for himfelf. And
this muft be done before he has any conception of
fucking or fwallowing, or of the manner in which
they are to be performed. He is led by nature to do
thefe actions without knowing for what end, or what
he is about. This we call injiind.

In many cafes there is no time for voluntary de-
termination. The motions muft go on fo rapidly,
that the conception and volition of every move-
ment cannot keep pace with them. In fome cafes
of this kind, inftincl, in others habit, comes in to
our aid.

. When a man ftumbles and lofes his balance, the
motion necelTary to prevent his fall would come too

late.

INFLUENCE of IM0TI\'ES upon the WILL. 65

late, if it were the confccjucnce of thinkinp; M'hat
is fit to be done, and making a voluntary cflbrt for
that purpofe. He docs this inlHn<ftively.

When a man beats a drum or plays a tune, he
has not time to direcl every particular beat or flop,
by a voluntary determination ; but the habit
which may be acquired by cxcrcife, anUvcrs the
purpofe as wclL

By inilincl therefore, and by habit, M-e do many
things without any exercifc either of judgment
or will.

In other actions the will is exerted, but without
judgment.

Suppofe a man to know that, in order to live, he
muft eat. What (hall he eat ? How much ? And
how often ? His reafon can anfwer none of thcfc
queftions ; and therefore can give no direcflion how
he fliould determine. Here again nature, as an in-
dulgent parent, fupplies the defects of his reafon ;
giving him appetite, which fliews him when he is
to cat, how often, and how much ; and tafte, which
informs him what he is, and what he is not to eat.
And by thefe principles he is much better directed
than he could be without them, by all the know-
ledge he can acquire.

As the Author of nature has given us fome prin-
ciples of action to fupply the defects of our know-
ledge, he has given others to fupply the defects of
our wifdom and virtue.

The natural delires, affedions and pafiions, which
arc common to the wife and to the fooliih, to the
virtuous and to the vicious, and even to the more
fagacious brutes, ferve very often to dire6t the
courfe of human actions. By thefe principles men
may perform the moft laborious duties of life, with-
out any regard to duty ; and do what is proper to
be done, without regard to propriety ; like a vell'el
that is carried on in her proper courfe by a profperous

E gale.

66 E S S A Y II. Chap. IL

gale, without the fkill or judgment of thofe tha!t
are aboard.

Appetite, aflc(fiion, or pafTion, give an impulfe
to a certain a6tion. In this iinpulfc there is no
judgment implied. It may be weak or ftrong ; we
can even conceive it irrcfdHble. In the cale of mad-
nefs it is fo. Madmen have their appetites and paf-
lions ; but they v.ant the power of fclf-government ;
and therefore we do not impute their aetions to the
man but to the difeafe.

In anions that proceed from appetite or paflion,
we are paflive in part, and only in part ai^tive.
They are therefore partly imputed to the paflion ;
and if it is fuppofed t6 be irrefiflible, we do not
impute them to the man at all.

Even an American favage judges in this manner :
When in a fit of drunkennefs he kills his friend : As
foon as he comes to him.felf, he is very forry for
what he has done ; but pleads that drink, and not
he, v.'as the caufe.

We conceive brute-animals to have no fup?rior
principle to control their appetites and pafTions.
On this account, their actions are not fubjedl to
law. Men are in alike ftate in infancy, in madnefs,
and in the delirium of a fever. They have appe-
tites and pafiions, but they want that which makes
them moral agents, accountable for their conducSt,
and objeds of moral approbation or of blame.

In fome cafes, a ftronger im.pulfe of appetite or
pafiion may oppofe a weaker. Here allb there
may be determination and adion without judg-
ment.

Suppofe a foldier ordered to mount a breach, and
certain of prefent death if he retreats, this man
needs not courage to go on, fear is fufficient. The
certainty of prefent death if he retreats, is an over-
balance to the probability of being killctl if he goes
on. The man is pufhed by contrary forces, and it

requires

INFLUENCE of MOTIVES upon the VILL. 67

requires neither judgment ror exertion to yield to
the ftronoeft.

A hungry dog acls by the fame principle, if meat
is fct before him, with a threatening to beat him if
he touch it. Hunger pufiics him forward, fcnr
puflies him back with more force, and the ftrongcft
torce prevails.

Thus we fee, that, in many even of our voluntary
actions, we may aft from the impulfe of appetite,
afledlion, or pallion, without any exercife of judg-
ment, and much in the fame manner as brute-ani-
mals feem to a6l.

Sometimes, however, there is a calm in the mind
from the gales of pailion or appetite, and the man
is left to work his way, in the voyage of life, with-
out thofe impulfcs which they give. Then he camly
weighs goods and evils, which are at too great a
diftince to excite any paflion. He judges what is
beft upon the whole, without feeling any bias draw-
ing him to one fide. He judges for himfelf as he
would do for another in his fituation ; and the de-
termination is wholly imputable to the man, and
not in any degree to his paflion.

Every man come to years of underftanding, who
has given any attention to his own conducl, and to
that of others, has, in his mind, a fcale or meafure
of goods and evils, more or lefs exa6l. He makes
an eftimate of the value of health, of reputation,
of riches, of pleafure, of virtue, of felf-approbati-
on, and of the approbation of his Maker. Thefe
things, and their contraries, have a comparative im-
portance iu his cool and deliberate judgment.

When a man conliders v»'hcther health ou^ht to
be preferred to bodily llrength, fame to riches, whe-
ther a good confcience and the approbation of his
Maker, to every thing iliat can come in competition
with it ; this appears to mc to be an exercife of
jucjgment, and not any impulfe of pafiion or ap-
petite.

E 2 Every

68 ESS A Y II Chai-. II.

Every thing worthy of purfuit, muft be fo, either
intrinlically, and upon its own account, or as the
means of procuring fomething that is intrinfically
valuable. That it is by judgment that we difcern
the fitnefs of means for iittaining an end, is felf-
evident ; and in this, I think, all Philofophcrs agree.
But that it is the office of judgment to appreciate
the value of an end, or the preference due to one
end above another, is not granted by fome Philo-
fophcrs.

In determining, wliat is good or ill, and, of dif-
ferent goods, which is beft, they think we muft be
guided, not by judgment, but by fome natural or
acquired tafie, which makes us rclifh one thing and
diflike another.

Thus, if one man prefers cheefe to lobfters, ano-
ther lobfters to cheefe, it is vain, fay they, to apply
judgment to determine which is right. In like
manner, if one man prefers pleafure to virtue, ano-
ther virtue to pleafure, this is a matter of tafte,
judgment has nothing to do in it. This ieems to
be the opinion of fome Thilofophers.

I cannot help being of a contrary opinion. I
think we may form a judgment, both in the quef-
tion about cheefe and lobllers, and in the more im-
portant queftion about pleafure and virtue.

When one man feels a more agreeable relifh in
cheefe, another in lobfters, this, I grant, requires
nojudgment ; it depends only upon the conftitution
of the palate. But, if we v/ould deterinine which
of the two has the bcft tafte, I think the qucftion
muft be determined by judgment ; and that, with a
fmall fhare of this faculty, we m.ay give a very cer-
tain dcterminr.tion, to wit, that the two taftes are
equally good, and that both of the perfons do equally
well, in preferring what fuits their palate and their
ftomach.

N.iy, I apprehend, that the two perfons who
did'er iji their tafte will, notwithftanding that differ-
ence.

INFLUENCE of MOTIVES upon the WILL. 69

cncc, agree perfectly in diclr judgment, that both
taftes are upon a footing of equality, and that nei-
ther has a jull claim to preference.

Thus it appears, that, in this inftancc, the olTIcc
of taile is very dlllercnt from that (A judgment ;
and that men, who difl'er moft in tafle, may agree
perfeftly in their judgment, even with refpeit to the
taftes wherein tliey diifc-r.

To make the other cafe parallel with this, it muft
be fuppofcd, that the man of pleafure and the man
of vircue agree in their judgment, and that neither
fees any reafon to prefer the one courfe of life to
the otlicr.

If this be fuppofcd, I fhall grant, that neither of
thefe perfons has reafon to condemn the other.
Each chufes according to his tafle, in matters which
his beil judgment determines to be pcrfedly in-
diiferent.

But it is to be obfervcd, that this fuppofition can-
not have place, when we fpcak of men, or indeed
of moral agents. The man who is incapable of
perceiving the obligation of virtue, when he ufes
his beil judgment, is a man in name, but not in
reality. He is incapable either of virtue or vice,
and is not a m.oral agent.

Kven tiic man of pleafure, when his judgment is
unblafl'ed, fees, that there are certain things which
a man ouffht not to do, thouGfh he fhould have a
taite for them. If a thief breaks into his houfe and
carries off his goods, he is perfe*:tiy convinced that
he did wrong and defcrves punifhment, altliough
he had as ftron^ a relifh for the sroods as he himfelf
has for tliepleafurcs he purfues.

It is evident, that mankind, in all ^gc:i, have
conceived two parts in the human conftitution that
may have influence upon our voluntary aaions.
T'hefe we call by the general names of pajjkn and
rciijln ; and we iliali f:nd, in all languages, names
that are e^juivalent.

Und.r

•JO E S S A Y II. CiiAr. II.

Under the former, we comprehend various prin-
ciples of aflion, fimihir to thofe we obfcrve in brute-
animals, and in men who have not tlie ul'o of rca-
fon. ylf>/>ei'iics, nJfccJio/u, paffynu^ arc the names by
which they arc denominated ; and thefc names are
not {o accurately diPvin2:uiflied in connnon lar.;]:napc,
but that they are uled lomewhat promifcuoully. —
This, however, is common to them all, that they
draw a man toward a certain objccT-, v.-ithout any
farther view, by a kind of violence ; a violence
which indeed may be rcfiflcd if the man is mafter
of h'mfelf, but cannot be reiiftcd without a
ftruij^orle.

Cicero's phrafe for exprefiing their influence is,
" Hominem hue et illuc rapiunt." Dr. IIurcHESON
ufes a fnnilar phrafe, " Quibus agitatur mens et
" bruto quodam impetu fertur." There is no ex-
ercife of reafon or judgment neceflary in order to
feel their influence.

With regard to this part of the human confti-
tution, I fee no difference between the vulgar and
Fliilofophers.

Ar, to the other part of our conflitution, Vvhich is
commorly called reafon^ as cppofed to p?.lI:on, there
have been very iubtile difputes among modern Phi-
lofophers, whether it ought to be called reafon, or
be not rather fome internal fenfe or tafte.

Whether it ou^ht to be called reafon, or bv what
other name, I do not here enquire, but what kind
of influence it has upon our voluntary actions.

As to this point, I think, all n.en mufi: allow that
this is the manly part of our conftitution, the other
the brute part. This operates in a calm and difpaf*
fionate manner; a manner fo like to judgment or
reafon, that even thofe who do not allow it to be
called by that name, endeavour to account for its;
having always had the name ; bccaufe, in the man-
ner of its operation, it has a fimilitude to reafon.

INFLUENCE ci- MOTIVES upon the WILL. 71

As the fimilitude between this principle and rea-
ibn has led mankind to give it that name, fo the
diflimilitude between it and paiTion has led them to
fet the two in oppofition. They have confldered
this cool principle, as having an influence upon our
actions lb diilerent from palllon, that what a man
does coolly an.d deliberately, without pallion, is iiTi-
putcd iolely to the man, vvhether it have merit or
demerit ; whereas, what he does from paflion is im-
puted in part to the pailion. If the pallion be con-
ceived to be irrefiftible, the action is imputed folely
to it, and not at all to the man. If he had power
to refiil, and ought to have rcfiftcd, we blame him
for not doing his duty ; but, in proportion to the
violence of the pafTion, the fault is alleviated.

By this cool principle, we judge what ends are
moll worthy to be purfued, how far every appetite
and paihon may be indulged, and when it ought to
be rclifted.

It directs us, not only to refill the irnpulfe of
paflion when it would lead us wrong, but to avoid
the occaflons of inflaming it ; like Cviius, who re-
fufed to fee the beautiful captive princcfs. In this
he acled the part both of a wife and a good man ;
firm in the love of virtue, and, at the fame time,
confcious of the weaknefs of human nature, and
unwilling to put it to too fevere a trial. In this cafe,
the youth of Cyrus, the incomparable l^cauty of
his captive, and every circumftance which tended to
inflame his deflre, exalts the merit of his conduct in,
reflfting it.

It is in fuch actions that the fuperiorily of human
nature appears, and the fpeciflc difference between
it and that of brutes. In them we may obferve one
paflion combating another, and the ftrongcft pre-
vailing ; but we perceive no calm principle in their
conftitution, that is fuperior to every paflion, and
able to give lav/ to it.

The

72 E S S A Y II. CiiAr. 11.

The dilTercnce between thefc two parts of our
conllitution may be farther illuftratcd by an inftancc
or two wherein paflion prevails.

If a man, upon great provocation, ftrikc another
when he ought to keep the peace, he blames himfelf
for what he did, and acknowledges that he ought
nov. to have yielded to his pafilon. Every other
pcrfon agrees with his fobcr judgment. They think
he did wrong in yielding to his palTion, when he
might and ought to have rciifted its impulfe. If
they thought it impoiTible to bear the provocatiouj
they would not blame him at all ; but believing
that it was in his power, and was his duty, they
impute to him fome degree of blame, acknowledg-
ing, at the fame time, that it is alleviated in pro-
portion to the provocation ; fo that the trefpafs is
imputed, partly to the man, and partly to the pafii-
cn. But, if a man deliberatelv conceives a defisrn
of mifchief as^ainft his nci<Thbour, contrives the
n^eans, and executes it, the action admits of no
alleviation, it is perfectly voluntary, and he bears
the whole guilt of the evil intended and done.

If a man, by the agony of tlie rack, is made to
difclofe a fecret of importance, with which he is
entrufted, we pity him more than we blame him.
We conlider, that fuch is the Mcaknefs of human
nature, that the refolution, even of a good man,
might be overcome by fuch a trial. But if he have
itrcngth of mind, which even the agony of the rack
could not fubdue, we admire his fortitude as truly
hcroicah

Thus, I think, it appears, that the common (crSc
of men (which, in matters of common life, ought
to have great authority) has led them to dillinguifli
two parts in the human conllitution, \\hich have
influence upon our voluntary determinations. There
is an irrational part, common to us with brute-
animais, conlifling of appetites, affc<ft:ions and paili-
ons, and there is a cool and rational part. The ilrft,

INFLUENCE of MOTIVES upon the ^VILL. 73

in many cafes, gives a ftrong impulfc, but m itIiDv.r
judgment, and without authority. Tlie Iccond is
always accompanied with authority. All wifdom
and virtue conlift in following its dictates ; all vice
and folly in difobeying them. A^'e may rcfift the
impulfes of appetite and panion, not only without
regret, but with felf-applaufe and triumph ; but the
calls of rcafon and duty can never be refilled, M'ltli-
out rcmorfe and lelf-condemnation.

The ancient Philofopher's agreed v/ith the vulgar,
in making the diftindion of the principles of action.
The irrational part the Greeks calK'il c^tt)-. Cickro
calls it appetiiits^ taking that word in an extenfive
fenfe, fo as to include every prcpenfity to aclioii
which is not grounded on judgment.

The other principle the Greeks called '-«•"'? ; Plato
calls it the Ji/Jiwoj,;^*./, or leading principle. " Duplex cnim
*' cjl vis an'niioriim at que naturce^ lays C'icero, una
*• pars in appcfilu pf.fita cjl^ qua cjt of.'.t» Gra:cc, qmr.-
'' Lomincm hue et illuc rapit ; altera in rationt\ qucz
" docet^ ct cxplanat^ quid faciendum fugicndumvc fit ; iia
" fit lit ratio prqftt appetitus ohtewperet,'^

The rcafon of explaining this diftinuli<".n here is,
that thcfe two principles influence the will in dilTcr-
cnt M'ays. Their influence diifers, not in degree
only, but in kind. This difference we feel, though
it may be dillicult to find words to cxprefs it. \Vc
may perhaps more cafily form a notion of it by a
fmiilitude.

It is one thing to pufii a man from, one part oF the
room to another ; it is a thing of a very difleren.t
nature to uie arguments to perfuade him to leave
liis place, and go to another. He may yield to the
force which pufhcs him, without any exercife of
his rational faculties ; nay, he muft yield to it, if
he do not oppofe an ejjudl or a greater force. Ills
lil)erty is impaired in tome degree ; and, if he h,v>
not power fullicicnt to opjjofe, his liberty is quite
taken av/ay, and the motion cannot be imputed to

hiii:

-4 ESSAY II. Chap. II,

1dm at all. The influence of appetite or paflion
feems to me to be very like to this. If tlie paflion
be funpofcd irrefiftible, we impute the action to it
folely, and not to the man. If he had power to
refill, but yields after a ftruggle, we impute the
action, partly to the man, and partly to the paf-
lion.

If we attend to the other cafe, when the man is
only urged by arguments to leave his place, this
refembles the operation of the cool or rational prin-
ciple. It is evident, that, whether he yields to the
arguments or not, the determination is wholly his
own acl, and is entirely to be imputed to him. Ar-
guments, whatever be the degree of their llrength,
diminifh not a man's liberty •, they may produce a
cool conviction of what we ought to do, and they
can do no more. But appetite and palHon give an
impulfe to act and impair liberty, in proportion to
their ftrength.

With moft men, the impulfe of paflion is more
effcftual than bare conviction ; and, on this account,
orators, who would perfuade, find it iieceflary to
addrefs the paflions, as well as to convince the un-
derfl:anding ; and, in all fyfl:ems of rhetoric, thefe
two have been confidered as different intentions
of the orator, and to be accompliflied by different
means.

CHAP.

OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 75
C H A P. III.

Of Operations of Mind icbicb may be called Voluntary,

1 II E fiiciiltles of underflanding and will arc cafily
dilHnguiihcd in thought, but very rarely, if ever,
disjoined in operation.

in moft, perhaps in all the operations of mind
for vv'hich we have names in langua^^e, both faculties
are employed, and we are both intelleclivc and
active.

Whether it be pofTible that intelligence may exifl
without fome degree of adivity, or impoflible, is
perhaps beyond the reach of our faculties to deter-
mine ; but, I apprehend, that, in fact, they are
always conjoined in the operations of our minds.

It is probable, I think, that there is fome de^-rec
of activity in thofe operations which we refer to the
underftanding ; accordingly, they have always, and
in all languages, been exprelTed by aftive verbs ; as
I (cc, I hear, I remember, I apprehend, I jud^re, I
rcafon. And it is certain, that every aft of will
muft be accompanied by fome operation of the un-
derftanding ; for he that wills muft apprehend what
he wills, and apprehenfion belongs to the under-
ftanding.

The operations I am to confider in this chapter, I
think, have commonly been referred to the under-
ftanding ; but we fliall find that the will has fo o-rcat
a ftiare in them, that they may, with propriety, be
called voluntary. They are thefe three, attention, de-
liberation, and fixed purpofe or refoliition..

Attention may be given to any objccT, either of
fenfe, or of intellccT, in order to form a diftinft
notion of it, or to difcover its nature, its attributes
or its relations. And fo great is the efl'ccT; of atten-
tion.

76 ESSAY 11. Chap. III.

tion, that, without it, it is impoHiblc to acquire or
retain a diftincl notion of any objecl of thought.

If a man hear a difcouric without attention, what
does he carry away with him ? If he fee St. Peter's
or the Vatican without attention, What account
can he give of it ? W^'hile two perfons are engaged
in intereftingdifcourfe, the clock ftrikes within their
hearing, to which they give no attention, What is
the confequence .'' The next minute they know not
whether the clock ftruck or not. Yet their ears
were not flint. Tlie ufual hiiprellion was made upon
the organ of hearing, and upon the auditory nerve
and brain ; but from inattention the found either
was not perceived, or pafled in the twinkling of
an eye, without leaving the leall vcltige in the
memory.

A man fees not what is before his eyes when his
mind is occupied about another object. In the tu-
mult of a battle a man may be fiiot through the
body without knowing any thing of the matter,
till he difcover it by the lofs of blood or of
flrength.

The moft acute fenfation of pain may be deadened,
if the attention can be vigorouiiy diredccl to another
object. A gentleman of my acquaintance, in the
agony of a fit of the gout, ufcd tocallfor the chefs-
bo:;rd. As he was fond of that game, he acknow-
ledged that, as the game advanced, and drew his at-
tention, the fenfe of pain abated, and the time
fecmcd much fhortcr.

Archimedes, it is faid, being intent upon a ma-
thematical propontion, when Syracufe was taken by
the Komans, knew not the calamity of the city, till
a Roman foldier broke in upon his retirement, and
gave him a deadly wound ; on which he lamented
only that he had iofi. a line demonftration.

It is needlefs to multiply inftances to fliew, that
when one faculty of the uiind i:^ intenlely engaged

about

OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 77

ibout any object, the other faculties are laid as it
were faft afleep.

It may be farther obfcrved, that if there be any
thing that can be called genius in matters of mere
judgment and reafoning, it feems to confift chiefly
in being able to give that attention to the fubje6t
which keeps it fteady in the mind, till we can furvcy
it accurately on all fides.

There is a talent of imagination, which bounds
from earth to heaven, and from heaven to earth in
a moment. This may be favourable to wit and
imagery; but the powers of judging and reafoning
depend chiefly upon keeping the mind to a clear and
fl:eady view of the fubject.

Sir Isaac Nevv-ton, to one who complimented
him upon the force of genius, which had made fuch
improvements in mathematics and natural philofo-
phy, is faid to have made this reply, which was both
modefl: and judicious. That, if he had made any
improvements in thofe fciences, it was owing more
to patient attention than to any other talent.

Whatever be the eflccls which attention may pro-
duce, (and I apprehend ihey are far beyond what is
commonly believed,) it is for the moft part in our
power.

F.vcry man knows that he can turn his attention
to this fubjecl or to that, for a longer or a fhorter
time, and with more or lefs intenfenefs, as he pleafcs.
It is a voluntary acft, and depends upon his will.

But what was before obferved of the will in gene-
ral, is applicable to this particular exertion of it.
That the mind is rarely in a fl:ate of indiflerencc,
left to turn its attention to the object which to rea-
fon appears mofl: deferving of it. 'I'here is, for the
moft part, a bias to fome particular objcft, more
than to any other ; and this not from any judgment
of its deferving our attention more, but from fome
impulfe or propenfity, grounded on nature or
habit.

78 E S S A Y ir. Chap. III.

Tt is well known that things new and uncommon,
things gnmd, and things that arc beautiful, draw
our attention, not in proportion to the intereft we
have, or think we have in them, but in a mucli
greater proportion.

Whatever moves our paflions or affections draws
our attention, very often, more than we wifh.

You defire a man not to think of an unfortunate
event which torments him. It admits of no remedy.
The thought of it anfwers no purpofe but to keep
the wound bleeding. He is perfectly convinced of
all you fay. He knows that he would not feel the
affliction, if he could only not think of it ; yet he
hardly thinks of any thing elfc. Strange ! when
happinefs and mifery Hand before him, and depend
upon his choice, he chufes mifery, and rejects hap-
pinefs with his eyes open !

Y'^et he wilhes to be happy, as all men do. How
{hall we reconcile this contradiction between his
judgment and his conduct ?

Ihe account of it feems to me to be this : The
afflicting event draws his attention fo ftrongly, by a
natural and blind force, that he either hath not the
power, or hath not the vigour, of mind to refift its
impulfe, though he knows that to yield to it is mife-
ry, without any good to balance it.

Acute bodily pain draws our attention, and makes
it very difficult to attend to any thing elfe, even
when attention to the pain ferves no other purpofe
but to aggravate it tenfold.

The man who played a gamiC at chefs in the agony
of the gout, to engage his attention to another ob-
ject, afted the reafonable part, and confulted his
real happinefs ; but it required a great effort to give
that attention to his game, which was necefTary to
produce the effect intended by it.

Even Vv'hen there is no particular object that draws
^way our attention, there is a defultorinefs of
thought in man, and in fome more than in others,

which

OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 7^

"ivhich makes it very difficult to give that fixed atten-
tion to important objects which rcafon requires.

It appears, I think, from what has been faid, that
the attention we give to objects, is for the moft part
voluntary : That a great part of wifdom and virtue
confifts in giving a proper direction to our atten-
tion ; and that however reafonable this appears to
the judgment of every man, yet, in fome cafes, it
requires an effort of fclf-command no lefs than the
moil heroic virtues.

Another operation that may be called voluntary, is-
deliberation about what we are to do or to forbear.

Every man knows that it is in his power to deli-
berate or not to deliberate about any part of his con-
duct ; to deliberate for a fhortcr, or a longer time,
more carelefsly, or more feriouily : And when he
has reafon to fufpect that his affection may bias his
judgment, he may either honeftly ufe the beft means
in his power to form an impartial judgment, or he
may yield to his bias, and only feek arguments to
juftify what inclination leads him to do. In all thefe
points, he determines, he wills, tlie right or the
v/rong.

The general rules of deliberation are perfectly eVi^
dent to reafon when mt confider them abftractly. —
They are axioms in morals.

We ought not to deliberate in cafes that are per-
fectly clear. No man deliberates whether he ought
to chufe happiiiefs or mifery. No honeft man deli'
berates whether he iliall fteal his neighbour's proper-
ty. When the cafe is not clear, when it is of impor-
tance, and when there is time for deliberation, we
ought to deliberate with more or lefs care, in pro-
portion to the importance of the adion. In deliber-
ation we ought to weigh things in an even balance,
and to allow to every conlideration the weight
which, in fober judgment, we think it ought to have,
and no more. This is to deliberate impartially. —
Our deliberation fhould be brought to an iflue in due

time.

8o ESSAY II. Chap. III.

time, io that \vc may not lofc the opportunity of
auling while we dclibcnite.

Tiie axioms of Euclid do not appear to me to have
a cjreater degree of lelf-evidence, than thefe rules of
deliberation. And as f;ir as a man acts according to
them, his heart approves of him, and he has confi-
dence of the approbation of the Searcher of hearts.

But thoup^h the manner in which we ouQ:ht to de-
liberate be evident toreafon, it is not always eafy to
follow it. Our appetites, our affections and paflion' ,
oppofe all deliberation, but that which is employed
in finding the means of" their gratification. Avarice
may lead to deliberate upon the ways of making
uionev, but it does not dilHnguifh between the ho-
cefl and the diflioneit.

We ought furely to deliberate how far every ap-
petite and pafTion may be indulged, and what limits
iiiould be fct to it. But our appetites and pailions
pufh us on to the attainment of their objecls, in the
{Iiorteft road, and without delay.

Thus it happens, that, if we yield to their im-
puilc, wc fhall often tranfgrefs thofe rules of deli-
beration, which rcafon approves. In this conflict
between the dicT:ates of reafon, and the blind impulfc
or paiTion, we muil voluntarily determine. \Vhen
we take part with our rcafon, though in oppofition
to pafiion, we approve of our own conduct.

What we call a fault of ignorance, is always ow-
in''" to the want of due deliberation. When we do
not take due pains to be rightly informed, there is
a fault, not indeed in acting according to the light
we have, but in not ufmg the proper means to get
light. For if M-e judge wrong, after ufing the pro-
per means of information, thire is no fault iu act-
ing according to that v.Tung judgment; the error
is invincible.

The natural confequcnce of deliberation on any
part of our conduci, is a determination ho^'-' rvc <hail
net ; and if it is not brought to th^s iuue it is loft
labour.

Tlicrc

OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 8x

. There are two cafes in which a determination may-
take place ; when the opportunity of putting it in
execution is prefent, and when it is at a diilance.

When the opportunity is prefent, the determina-
tion to act is immediately followed by the aclion.
Thus, if a man determine to rife and walk, he im-
mediately does it, unlcfs he is hindered by force, or
has loft the power of walking. And if he lit ftill
when he has power to walk, we conclude infalKbly
that he has not determined, or willed to walk im-
mediately.

Our determination or will to a6l, is not always
the refult of deliberation, it may be the effect of fome
paiTion or appetite, without any judgment interpof-
cd. And when judgment is interpofed, we may de-
termine and act cither according to that judgment
or contrary to it.

When a man fits down hungry to dine, he eats
from appetite, very often without exerciling his
judgment at all ; nature invites and he obeys the call,
as the ox, or the hcn^fe, or as an infant does.

When we converfe with perfons whom we love or
refped, wc fay and do civil things merely from af-
fection or from refpecf. They flow fpontaneoufly
from the heart, without requiring any judgment.
In fuch cafes we acl as brute-animals do, or as chil-
dren before the ufe of realbn. We feel an impulfe
in our nature, and we yield to it.

When a man eats merely from appetite, he does
not confider the pleafure of eating, or its tendency
to health. Thclc confiderations are not in his
thoughts. But we can fuppofe a inan who eats with
a view to enjoy the pleafure of eating. Such a man
reafons and judges. He will take care to ufe the pro-
per means of procuring an appetite. He will be a
critic in taftes, and make nice difcriminations. This
man ufes his rational faculties even in eatins:. And
Iiowever contemptible this application of them may
be, it is an cxerpfe of which, I apprehend, brute-
animab arc not capable.

F In

S2 ESSAY II. Chaf. III.

In like manner, a man m. ay fay or do civil things
to another, not from alfedion, but in order to fervc
fome end by it, or becaufe he thinks it his duty.

To act with a view to fomc diftant intereft, or to
acl from a fenfe of duty, feems to be proper to
man as a rational being ; but to acl merely from paf-
(lon, from appetite, or from affcclion, is common
to him with the brute-animals. In the laft cafe there
is no judgment required, but in the firft there is.

To a6l againft what one judges to be for his real
good upon the whole, is folly. To afl againft what
he judges to be his duty, is immorality. It cannot
be denied that there are too many inftances of both
in human life. Video meliora proboquc, deteriora fequory
is neither an impoflible, nor an unfrequent cafe.

While a man does what he really thinks wifeft and
beft to be done, the m(;rc his appetites, his affeclions
and pallions draw him the contrary way, the more
he approves of his own conduct, and the more he
is entitled to the approbation of every rational
being.

The third operation of mind 1 mentioned, which
may be called voluntary, is, A fix^d purpofe or re-
folution with regard to our future conduct.

This naturally takes place, when any aftiofi, or
courfe of action, about which we have deliberated,
is not immediately to be executed, the occafion of
a«5ting being at fome diftance.

' A fixed purpofe to do, fome time hence, fome-
thing which we believe fhall then be in our power, is
ftriclly and properly a determination of will, no lefs
than a determination to do it inftantly. Every de-
finition (if volition agrees to it. Whether the oppor-
tunity of doing what we have determined to do be
prefent or at fomediftance, is an accidental circum-
Itance whlcii does not affect the nature of the deter-
mination, and no good reafon can be affigned why
it {hould not be called volition in the one cafe, as wtW
as in the other. A purpofe or rcfolution, therefore,
i> trulv and properly an act of will.

- Our

OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 83

Our purports are of two kinds. We may call the
one particular^ the other general. By ^. particular pur-
pofc, I mean that which has for its objecl an indivi-
dual action, limited to one time and place ; by a
general purpofe, that of a courfe or train of a(5lion,
intended for fonje general end, or regulated by ibm.e
general rule.

Thus, I may purpofe to go to London next winter.
When the time comes, I execute my purpofe, if \
continue of the fame mind ? and the purpofe, when
executed, is no more. Thus it is with every parti-
cular purpofe.

A general purpofe may continue for life ; and,
after many particular actions have been done in con-
fequence of it, may remain and regulate future
actions.

Thus, a young man propofes to follow the profef-
lion of law, of medicine, or of theology. This ge-
neral purpofe direct:s the courfe of his reading and
iludy. It directs him in the choice of his company
and companions, and even of his diveriions. It de-
termines his travels and the place of his abode. It
has influence upon his drefs and manners, and a con-
fidcrable cftecl: in forming his character.

There are other fixed purpofes which have a ftill
greater eflccl: in forming the character. I mean fuch
^is rec::ard our moral conduct,

Suppofe a man to have exercued his intellectual
and moral faculties, fo far as to have diltin6t notions
of juftice and injuitice, and of the confequences of
both, and, after due deliberation, to have formed a
fixed purpofe to adhere inflexibly to juftice, and ne-
\ttv to handle the wages of iniquity.

Is not this the man whom we Iliould call a juft
man ? Wc confider the moral virtues as inherent in
the mind of a good man, even when there is no op-
portunity of exercillng them. And what is it in
the mind which we can call the virtue of juiticc,
w hen it is not exercifed ? It can be npthing but a fixed

F 2 purpofe

84 E S S A Y II. Chap. III.

purpofe or determination, to a6l according to the
rules of juftice, when there is opportunity.

The Roman law defined juftice, A Jieady and per-
petual li'ill to^ive to every man his due. When the op-
portunity of doing juftice is not prefent, this can
mean nothing elfe than a fteady purpofe, which is
very properly called will. Such a purpofe, if it is
fteady, w ill infallibly produce juft condu6l ; for eve-
ry known tranfgreffion of juftice demonftrates a
change of purpofe at leaft for that time.

What has been faid of juftice, may be fo eafily ap-
plied to every other moral virtue, that it is unnecef-
fary to give inftances. They are all fixed purpofes of
acting according to a certain rule.

By this, the virtues may be eafily diftinguiftied, in
thoucrht at leaft, from natural aiTeciions that bear the
fame name. Thus, benevolence is a capital virtue,
which, though not fo neceftary to the being of fo-
ciety, is entitled to a higher degree of approbation
than even juftice. But there is a natural alfe(Stion of
, benevolence, common to good and bad men, to the
virtuous and the vicious. How fliall thefe be diftin-
cruifhed ?

In practice, indeed, we cannot diftinguifli them in
other men, and with dilliculty in ourfelves ; but in
theory, nothing is more eafy. The virtue of bene-
volence is a fixed purpofe or refolution to do good
when we have opportunity, from a conviction that
it is right, and is our duty. The affe*5lion of bene-
volence is a propenfity to do good, from natural con-
ftitution or habit, wdthout regard to rectitude or
duty.

There are good tempers and bad, w^hich are a part
of the conftitution of the man, and are really invo-
luntary, though they often lead to voluntary acti-
ons. A good natured temper is not virtue, nor is a
bad one vice. Hard would it be indeed to think,
that a man ihould be born under a decree of repro-
bation, bccaufc he has the misfortune of a bad na-
tural temper.

The

OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 85

The Phyfiognomift faw, in the features of So-
crates, the fignatures of many bad difpofitions,
which that good man acknowledged he felt v/ithin
him ; but the triumph of his virtue was the greater
in having conquered them.

In men who have no fixed rules of condufb, no
felf-government, the natural temper is variable by
numberlefs accidents. The man who is full of af-
fection and benevolence this hour, when a crofs ac-
cident happens to ruffle him, or perhaps when an
cafterly wind blows, feels a ftrangc revolution in his
temper. The kind and benevolent aiTeclions give
place to the jealous and malignant, which are as rea-
dily indulged in their turn, and for the fame reafon,
becaufe he feels a propenfity to indulge them.

We may obferve, that men who have exercifed
their rational powers, are generally governed in their
opinions by fixed principles of belief ; and m.en who
have made the greateft advance in felf-govcrnment,
are governed in their practice, by general lixed pur-
pofes. "Without the former there would be no llea-
dinefs and confiftence In our belief ; nor without the
latter, in our conduct.

When a man is come to years of underfianding,
from his education, from his company, or from his
lludy, he forms to himfclf a fet of general principles,
a creed which governs his judgment in particular
points that occur.

If new evidence is laid before him which tends to
overthrow any of his received principles, it requires
in him a great degree of candour and love of truih,
to give it an impartial examination, and to forma
new judgment. Moft men, when they are fixed in
their principles, upon what they account fuflicienl
evidence, can hardly be drawn into a new and feri-
ous examination of them.

They get a habit of believing them, which is
ftrengthened by repeated acts, and remains immove-
able, even when the evidence upon which their be-
lief was at firll grounded, is forgot.

86 E S S A Y II. Chap. III.

It is this that makes converfions, either from re-
ligious or political principles, fo difiicult.

A mere prejudice of education fticks faft, as a pro-
portion of Euclid does m ith a man who hath loii^^
ago forgot the proof. Both indeed are upon a fimi-
lar footing. We reft in both, bccaufe we have long
done fo, and think we received tliem at firll uptm
good evidence, though that evidence be quite for-

When we know a man's principles, we judge by
them, rather than by the degree of his undcrftand'
ing, how he will determine in any point which is
connet'ced with them.

Thus, the judgment of moft men who judge for
themfclves is governed by fixed principles ; and, I
apprehend, that the conduft of moft men who have
any felf-government, and any confiftency of conducl,
is governed by fixed purpofes.

A man of breeding may, in his natural temper,
be proud, paflionate, revengeful, and in his morals
a very bad man ; yet, in gooci company, he can
ftillc every paflion that is inconliftent with good
breeding, and be humane, modeft, complaifant, even
to thofe whom in his heart he dcfpifes or hates.
Why is this man, who can command all his pafiions
before company, a flave to them in private ? The
fcafon is plain : He has ;i fixed refolution to be a man
of breeding, but hath no refolution to be a man of
virtue. lie hath combated his moft violent pafiions
a thouland times before he became mafter of them in
company. The fame refolution and perfeverance
would have given him the command of them w-hen
alone.

A fixed refolution retains its influence upon the
condu6\, even when the motives to it are not in
view, in tiie iame manner as a fixed principle re-
tains its influence upon the belief, when the evidence
of it is forgot. 'J'he former may be called a habit of
the Tt'///, the latter a habit of the untkrflnndhig. By

fuch

OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 87

i"uch habits chiefly, men are governed in their opi-
nions and in their pra(!:tice.

A man who has no general fixed purpofes, may-
be faid, as Pope lays of molt women, (I hope un-
juflly) to have no character at all. He will be ho-
nefl or diflionelf, benevolent or malicious, compaf-
lionate or cruel, as the tide of his pafiions and affec-
tions drives him. This, however, I believe, is the
cafe of but a few in advanced life, and thefc, with
regard to conduct, the weakeft and moft contempt-
ible of the fpecies.

A man of fome conftancy may change his general
purpofes once or twice in life, feldom more. From
the purfuit of pleafure in early life, he may change
to that of ambition, and from ambition to avarice.
But every man who ufes his reafon in the conducf of
life, will have fome end, to which he gives a prefe-
rence above all others. To this he fteers his courfe ;
his projecls and his actions will be regulated by it.
Without this, there would be no coniillency in his
conduct. He would be like a fliip in the ocean, which
is bound to no port, under no government, but left
to the mercy of winds and tides.

We obfcrved before, that there are moral rule's
refpecling the attention we ought to give to objccl;-}
and refpecling our deliberations, which are no lels
evident than mathematical axioms. The fame thing
may be obferve>.% with refpecf to our fixed purpoies,
whether particular or general.

Is it not felf-evident, that, after due deliberation,
we ought to refolve upon that conduct, or that courfe
of conduct, which, to our ibl>cr judgment, appears
to be bcft and moll approveablc r That we ought to
be firm and Heady in adhering to fuch rcfolutions,
while we are perfuaded that they are right ; but
open to conviction, and ready to change our courfe,
when we have good evidence that it is wrong ?

Ficklcnefs, inconllancy, facility, on tl\c one
hand, wilfulnefs, inflexibility, and obilinacy, on

the

88 ESSAY II. Chap. IV.

the other, are moral qualities, refpecling our purpo-
fes, which every one fees to be wronp;. A manly
firmncfs, grounded upon rational conviclion, is the
proper mean which every man approves and re-
veres.

CHAP. IV.

Corollaries.

r R O M what has been faid concerning the will,
it appears, firft^ That, as fome acVs of the will are
tranlient end momentary, fo others are permanent,
and may continue for a long time, or even through
the whole courfc of our rational life.

When I will to ftretch out my hand, tliat will is
at an end as foon as the aftion is done. It is an acl
of the will which begins and ends in a moment. But
when I will to attend to a mathematical propofilion,
to examine the demcnftration, and tlie conlequcnccs
that may be drawn from it, this will may continue
for hours. It mull continue as lon^ as my attention
continues ; for no nian attends to a mathematical
propofition longer than he wills.

Tlie fame thincc iriav be faid of dclibcratior., with
regard, either to any point of conduct, or with re-
gard to any general courfe of conducl. We will to
deliberate as long as we do deliberate ; and that may
be for days or for weeks.

/A purpofe or refolution, which wehavefliewn to
be an adt of the will, may continue for a great }>art
of life, or for the whole, after wc arc of r.gc to form
jk, refolution.

Thus,

COROLLARIES. 89

Tims, a merchant may rcfolve, that after he has
made fuch a fortune by traffic, he will give it up, and
retire to a country lite, lie may continue this refo-
lution for thirty or forty years, and execute it at
laft ; but he continues it no longer tlian he wills, for
he may at any time change his refolution.

There are therefore acls of the will which are not
tranfient and momentary, which may continue long
and grow into a habit. This deferves the more to be
obfcrved, becaufe a very eminent Philofophcr lias
advanced a coiitrary principle, to wit. That all the
acls of the will are tranlient and momentary; and
from that principle has drawn very important con-
clufions, with regard to v/hat confdtutes the moral
character of man.

A fcccnd corollary Is, That nothing in a man,
w^herein the will is not concerned, can juftly be ac-
counted either virtuous or immoral.

That no blame can be imputed to a man for what
is altogether involuntary, is fo evident in itfclf, that
no arguments can make it more evident. The prac-
tice of all criminal courts, in all enlightened nations,
is founded upon it.

If it fhould be thought an objeftion to this maxim,
that, by the laws of all nations, children often fufter
for the crimes of parents, in which they had no hand,
the anfwcr is eafy.

For, //>//, Such is the connection between parents
and ciiildrcn, that the punifhment of a parent mull
hurt his children whet lier the law will or not. If a
man is fined, or imprifoned ; if he lofes life, or lim.b,
or ellate, or reputation, by the hand of juftice, his
children fuller by neceflary coni'equence. Secondly,
When laws intend to appoint any punifliment of in-
nocent children for the father's crime, fuch laws arc
cither unjuft, or they arc to be conlidercd as acls of
police, and not of jurii'prudence, and are intended
as an expedient to deter parents more cfFectualiy from
the commifljon of the crime. Ihe innocent ghiidren,

po E S S A Y II. Chap. IV.

in this cafe, arc facrificed to the public good, in like
manner, as, to prevent the fpreading of the plague,
the found are lliut up with the infecled in a houfe or
ihip, that has the infeclion.

By the law of England, if a man is killed by an
ox goring him, or a cart running over him, though
there be no fault or neglecl in the owner, the ox or
the cart is a dcodand, and is conlifcatcd to the Church.
The Lcgiflature furely did not intend to punifh the
ox as a criminal, far lefs the cart. The intention
evidently was, to infpire the people with a facred
regard to the life of man.

When the Parliament of Paris, with a fimilar in-
tention, ordained the houfe in which Raviliiac was
born, to be razed to the ground, and never to be
rebuilt, it would be great weaknefs to conclude, that
the v/ife judicature intended to punifh the houfe.

If any judicature fliould, in any inftance, find, a
man guilty, and an objecl of punifhment, for what
they allowed to be altogether involuntary, all the
world would condemn them as men who knew
nothing of the firft and moft fundamental rules
of juftice.

I have endeavoured to fhew, that, in our attenti-
on to objects, in order to form a right judgment
of them ; in our deliberation about particular acti-
ons, or about general rules of condud ; in our pur-
pofes and refolutiong, as v/cll as in the execution of
them, the will has a principal ihare. If any man
could be found, who, in the whole courfe of liis lite,
had given due a.ttcntion to things that concern him,
had deliberated duly and impartially about his con-
duct, had formed his rcfolutions, and executed them
according to his bcft judgment and capacity, iurely
fuch a man might hold up his face before God and
man, and plead innocence. He muft be acquitted
l>y the impartial Judge, ^\hatever his natural temper
v/as, whatever his pailions and arloctions, as tar as
they were involuntary.

A third

COROLLARIES. 91

A //^/r^ corollary is, That all virtuous habits, when
we diftinguilli thcni from virtuous actions, conlift
in fixed purpofes of acting according to the rules of
virtue, as often as we have opportunity.

We can conceive in a man a greater or a lefs de-
gree of ftcadincfs to his purpofes or rcfolutions ;
but that the general tenor of his conduct Ihould be
contrary to tliem, is impofliblc.

The man who has a determined refolution to do
his duty in every inftance, and who adheres flcadily
to his refolution, is a perfed man. The man who
has a determined purpofe of carrying on a courfeof
action which he knows to be wrong, is a hardened
offender. Between thefe extremes there are many
intermediate degrees of virtue and vice.

E S S A Y

ESSAY III.

OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION.

PART I.

Of the Mechanical Principles of Adion,

CHAP. I.

Of the Principles of Adion in general.

IN the ftn6l philofophical fenfc, nothing can be
called the a6}ion of a man, but what he previoufly
conceived and willed or determined to do. In mo-
rals we commonly employ the word in this fenfe, and
never impute any thing to a man as his doing, in
which his will was not interpofed. But when moral
imputation is not concerned, we call many things
adiions of the man, which he neither previoufly con-
ceived nor \\ illed. Hence the anions of men have
been diftinguiftied into three claiTes, the voluntary,
the involuntary, and the mixed. By the laft are
meant fuch adions as. are under the command of the
will, but are commonly performed without any in-
tcrpolition of will.

94 ESSAY III. CiiAP. I.

We cnnnot avoid ufing the word a^ion in this po-
pular fenfe, wit)w>ut deviating too much from the
coinnion ufe oi language ; and it is in this fenfe we
life it when we enquire into the principles of action
in the human R^ind.

By principles of adion, I undcrftand every thing
that incites us to adt.

If there were no incitements to a61ion, adive
power wouki be given us in vain. Having no mo-
tive to dire(2^ our adiive exertions, the mind would,
in all cafes, be in a ftate of perfc6l indifference, to do
this or that, or nothing at all. The adive power
would either not be exerted at all, or its exertions
WT)uldbe perfectly unmeaning and frivolous, neither
wife nor tooliili, neither good nor bad. To every
action that is of the fmalleft importance, there muft
be fome incitement, fomc motive, fome reafon.

It is therefore a moft important part of the philo-
Ibphy of the human mind, to have a diftindl and
juft view of the various principles of action, which
the Author of our being hath planted in our nature,
to arrange them properly, and to alTigu to every one
its rank.

By this it is, that we may difcover the end of our
being, and the part which is affigned us upon the
theatre of life. In this part of the human conlli-
tution the noblcft work of God that falls v. itain our
notice, we may difcern moft clearly the chara<ftcr of
him who made us, and how he would have us to cm-
ploy that adive power which he hath given us.

I cannot without great diiiidcnce enter upon this
fubjed, obferving that almoft every author of repu-
tation, who has given attention to it, haj a fyitem
of his own ; and that no man has been fo happy as
to give general fatisfadion to ihofc who ca.me af-
ter him.

There is a branch of knowledge much valued,
and very juftly, which v>e call knowled;je of the
world, knowledge of mankind, knowledge of hu-
man

OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 9^

man nature: This, I think, confifts in knowing from
what principles men generally zS. ; and it is com-
monly the fruit of natural fagacity joined with ex-
perience.

A man of fagacity, who has had occalion to deal
in interefdng matters, with a great variety of per-
fons of different age, fcx, rank and profeflion, learns
to judge what may be expected from men in given
circumilances ; and how they may be moft effedlual-
ly induced to aft the part which he defires. To
know this is of fo great importance to men in ac-
tive life, that it is called knowincr men, and know-
ing human nature.

This knowledge may be of conilderable ufe to a
man who would fpeculate upon the fubje6l we have
propofed, but is not, by itfelf, fufficient for that
purpofe.

The man of the world conjefturcs, perhaps with
great probability, how a man will a6l in certain gi-
ven circumftances ; and this is all he wants to know.
To enter into a detail of the various principles which
influence the actions of men, to give them diftinct
names, to define them, and to afcertain their diffe-
rent provinces-, is the bufmcfs of a philofopher, and
not of a man of the world ; and, indeed, it is a
matter attended with great difficulty from various
caufes. '•'^* ''-•

FirJ}^ On account of the great number of active
principles that influence the actions of men.

Man has, not without reafon, been called an epi-
tome of the univerfe. His body, by which his
mind is greatly alTected, being a part of the mate-
rial fyftem, is fubject to all the laws of inanimate
matter. During f()mc part of his exigence, his flate
is very like that of a vegetable. lie rifcs, by im-
perceptible degrees, to the animal, and, at laft, to
the rational life, and has the principles that belong
to all.

Another

^ ESSAY III. Chap.I.

Another caiife of the difficulty of tracing the va-
rious principles of action in man, is, That the fame
action, nay, the fame courfe and train of adion may
proceed from very different principles.

Men who are fond of a hypothecs, commonly
feek no other proof of its truth, but that it ferves
to account for the appearances which it is brought
lo explain. This is a very flippery kind of proof in
every part of philofophy, and never to be truftcd ;
but leall of all, when the appearances to be account-
ed for are human actions.

Moft actions proceed from a variety of principles
concurring in their direction ; and according as we
are difpofed to judge favourably or unfavourably
of the perfon, or of human nature in general, we
impute them wholly to the beft, or wholly to the
v/orft, overlooking others which had no fmall fliare
in them.

^-vThe principles from which men act can be difco-
vered only in thcfe two ways ; by attention to the
conduct of other men, or by attention to our own
condud, and to what we teel in ourfelves. There
is much uncertainty in the former, and much diffi-
culty in the latter.

Men differ much in their chara<flers ; and we can
obferve the conduct of a few only of the fpecies.
Men differ not only from other men, but from
themfelves at different limes, and on diffcrcrit occa-
fions ; according as they are in the company of their
fuperiors, inferiors, or equals ; according as they
are in the eye of Itrangers, or of their familiars (m-
ly, or in the view of no human eye ; according as
they are in good or bad fortune, or in good or bad
humour. We fee but a fmall part of the addons of
our molt familiar acquaintance ; and what we fee
may lead us to a probable conjecture, but can give
no certain knoNvied^c of the principles from which
they act.

A man

OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 97

A man may, no doubt, know with certainty the
principles from which he himfelf afts, becaufc he is
confcious of them. But this knowledge requires an
attentive reflection Upon the operations of his own
mind, which is very rarely to be found. It is per-
haps more cafy to lind a man who has formed a jull
notion of the character of man in general, or of
thofe of his familiar acquaintance, than one wlio has
a juft notion of his own character.

Moft men, through pride and iblf-flattcry, arc apt
to think themfelvcs better than they really are ; and
fome, perhaps fror^ melancholy, or from falfe prin-
ciples of religion, are led to think themfelves worfe
than they really are.

It requires, therefore, a very accurate and im-
partial examination of a man's own heart, to be
able to form a diftinct notion of the various princi-
ples which influence his condu6l. That this is a
matter of great diiEculty, we may judge from the
very different and contradictory fyftems of Philofo-
phers upon this fubject, from the earlleft ages to
this day.

During the age of Greek Philofophy, the Plato-
nift, the Peripatetic, the Stoic, the Epicurean, had
each his own fyftem. In the dark ages, the School-
men and the Myftics had fyftems diametrically oppo-
fite ; and, iince the revival of learning, no contro-
verfy hath been more keenly agitated, efpecially
among Britifh Phiiofophers, than that about the
principles of action in tiie human coniHtution.

They have determined, to the fatisfacdon of the
learned, the forces by which the planets and comets
traverfe the boundlefs regions of fpace ; but have
not been able to detcrmir.e, with any degree of un-
animity, the forces which every man is confcious of
in himfelf, and by which his conduct is direded.

Some admit no principle but felf-love; others rc-

folvc all into love of the pleafures of fenfe, varioufly

modified by the aflbciation of ideas j others rdniit

G dilintercftcd

98 ESSAY III. Chap. 1.

.dirmfercfted benevolence along with fclf-love; others
reduce all to reafon and palfion ; othei-s to paflio'a
alone; nor is there lefs variety about the numl)cr
and diilribution of the pnilions.

The names we give to the various principles of
aiflion, have fo little preciiion, CA^n in the beft and
pureft writers in every language, that, on this ac-
count, there is no fmall diiKculty in giving them
names, and arranging them properly.

The words appetite^ pajpon, affcBion^ intercjl^ rea-
fon^ cannot be faid to have one definite fignificatidn.
They are taken fometimes in % larger, and fomc-
"timcs in a more limited fcnfe. The fame principle
is fometimes called by one of thofe names, fome-
times by another; and principles of a very different
nature are often called by thd fame name.

To remedy this confufion of names, it might pcr-
Tia'ps feem proper to invent nev/ ones. But there
are fo few entitled to this privilege, that I fhall not
lay claim to it ; but fhall endeavour to clafs the va:-
rious principles of human adlion as diftincVIy as I
am able, and to. point out their fpecific dificrences;
giving them fach niim.es as may deviate from the
common ufe of the wordj as little -as poffible.

There are Tome principles of dctitin whith req'uire
no attention, no deliberation, no will. Thefe,T"or
dilHnction's fake, we fhall call iii-cchanical. Another
clafs We ^ may' call 7z/?/>;r(i/, as they feem common' <o
man with other aninials. A third clafs we may call
rational J being proper to man us a rational creature.

C II A P.

I N S T I N C „T. 99

C JI A P. II.

hjilna.

; i HE mechanical principles of acliion may, I think,
be reduced to two fpecics, injTtncls and habits.

By inftinct, I mean a natural blind imp.ulfe to cer-
tain aclions, without having any end in view, without
deliberation, and very often without any concepti-
on of what we do.

Thus a. man breathes while he is alive, by the al-
ternate contraction and relaxation of ceVtaih niuf-
cles, by which the cheft, and of confecjuence the
lungs, are cpritradled and ullated. There is no rca-
fon to think, that an infant new-born, knows that
breathing is necclfary to life in its new ftate, that he
knows how it mufi be performed, or' even. that he
has any thought or conception of that operation ;
yet he breathes as loon as he is born with perfect
regularity, as if he had been taught, and got tlic
habit by long practice.

By the fame kind of principle, a new-born child,
when its flornach is emptied, and nature has brought
milk into the mother's breaft, fucks and fwallows its
food as perfectly as if it knew the principles of that
operation, and had got the habit of working accord-
ing to them.

Sucking and f\y alio wing are very complex opera-
lions. Anatomifis defcribe about thirty pairs of
mufcles that muft be employed in every dranght.
Of thofe mufcles, every one muft be ferved by its
proper nerve, and can make no exertion but by
ibme influence communicated by the nerve. Tiie
exertion of all thole nmfclesund nerves is not flmui-
taneous. They mult fuccced cacli other in a certain
order, and their order is n,o Icfs neceffary than the
cjwcrt\on itfelf.

G 2 This

loo ESSAY III. Chap. II.

This regular train of operations is cariied on ac-
cording to the niceft rules of art, by the infant, who
has neither art, nor fcicnce, nor experience, nor
habit.

That the infant feels the uneafy fenfation of hun-
ger, 1 admit ; and that it fucks no longer than till
this fenfation be removed. But -who informed it
that this uneafy fenfation might be removed, or by
what means ? That it knows nothing of this is evi-
dent ; for it will as readily fuck a finger, or a bit of
flick, as the nipple.

By a like principle it is, that infants cry when
they are pained or hurt ; that they are afraid when
left alone, efpccially in the dark ; that they ftart
when in danger of falling ; that they are terrified
by an angry countenance, or an angry tone of voice,
and are foothcd and comforted by a placid counte-
nance, and byfoft and gentle tones of voice.

In the animals we are befl: acquainted with, and
which we look upon as the more perfect of the brute-
creation, we fee much the fame inftincls as in the
human kind, or very iimilar ones, fuited to the
particular ilate and manner of life of the animal.

Befides thcfe, there are in brute-animals inftincls
peculiar to each tribe, by which they are fitted for
defence, for offence, or for providing for themfelves,
and for their offspring.

It is not more certain, that nature hath furnilhed
various animals with various weapons of offence
and defence, than that the fame nature hath taught
them iiow to ufe them ; the bull and the ram to
butt, the horfe to kick, the dog to bite, the lion
to ufc his paws, the boar his tulks, the fcrpent his
fangs, and the bee and wafp their fling.

The m.anufactures of animals, if we may call them
by that nam.e, prefent us with a wonderful variety
of inftin<fls, belonging to particular ipecies, whether
of the focial or or the folitary kind ; the nefts of
birds, fo fimilar in their fituation and architedlurc

INSTINCT. 101

in the fame kind, fo various in different kinds ; the
webs of fpiders, and of other fpinning animals ; the
ball of the fiik-worm ; the nefts of ants and other
mining animals ; the combs of wafps, hornets and
bees ; the dams and houfes of beavers.

The inilincl of animals is one of the moft de-
lightful and inftru'^ive parts of a moft plcafant ftudy,
that of natural hiftory ; and deferves to be more
cultivated than it has yet been.

Every manufacluring art among men was invented
by fome man, improved by others, and brought to
pcrfeclion by time and experience. Men learn to
work in it by long practice, which produces a habit.
The arts of men vary in every age, and in every
nation, and are found only in thofe who have been
taught them.

The manufa<5tures of animals differ from thofe of
men in many ftriking particulars.
. No animal of the fpecies can claim the invention.
No animal ever introduced any new improvement,
or any variation from the former pracfice. Every
one of the fpccies has equal fkill from the beginning,
without teaching, without experience or habit.
Every one has its art by a kind of infpiration. I do
not mean that it is infpircd with the principles or
rules of the art, but with the ability and inclination
of working in it to perfedion, without any know-
ledge of its principles, rules or end.

The more fagacious animals may be taught to do
many things which they do not by inftinct. What
they are taught to do, they do v/ith more or lefa
Ikill, according to their fagacity and their training.
But, in their own arts, they need no teaching nor
training, nor is the art ever improved or loft. Bees
gather their honey and their wax, they fabricate
their combs and rear their young at this day, neither
better nor worfe than they did v/heu Virgil fo
fweeily lung their workb.

The

102 IT S" S'' A' Y Iir; Chap. II.

The work of every aniiriat is indeed like the works
of nature, perfect in its kind, and can bear the moft
critical examination of the mechanic or the mathe-
matician. One example from the animal lall men-
tioned may ferVe to" illuftrate this.

Bees, it is well known, conftruct their combs
with fnrall cells on both fide^, fit both for holding"
their flore of honey, and for rearing their young.
There arc only three poffible figures of the cells,
which can make them all equal aiidfimilar, without,
any ufelefs interfcices. Thefe are the equilateral
triangle,, the fquare, and the regular hexagon.

It is well knov/ri to mathematicians, that there is
not a fourth way poil?ole, in which a plane m.ay be
cut into little fpaces that fliiiU be equal, fnr.ilar and'
regular, without leaving any interllices. Of the
three, the hexagon is the moft proper, both for
ccnveniency and ftrength. Bees, as if they knew
this, make their cells regular hexagons.
_ As the combs have cells on both fides, the cells
may either be exafdy oppofitc, having partition
againfi: partition, or the bottom of a cell rhay reft
upon the partitions between the cells on the other
](ide, which will ferve as a buttrefs to Ib'engthcn it.
The. laft way is bcft for fjtrength ; accordingly, the
bottom of each cell refls againfl the point where
three partitions meet on the other fide, which gives
it all the flrength pofTiblc.

.The bottom of a cell may eilherbe one plane per-
pendicular to the fide-partitions, or it miay be com-
p()fed of fcveral plane:;, meeting in a folid angle in
the middle point. It is only in one of thelc two
ways, that all the cells can be fimilar without loilhg
loom. And, for the flime intention, the planes of
which the bottom is compofed, if there be niorc
than pne, muflbe three in number, and neiilier mol^e
nor fewer.

^ It has been demonRratcd, that, l>y making the
bottoms of the cells to confill of three planes meet-

intx

INSTINCT. 103

ing in a point, there is a faving of material and
labour no way inconfidcrablc. 'J'hc bees, as if ac-
quainted with thefe principles of folid geometry,
follow them Wtod accurately ; the bottom of each
cell being compoll-d of three planes v/hich make
obtufe angles with the iide-partitions, and with one
another, and meet in a point in the middle of the
bottom ; the three angles of this bottom being fup-
ported by three partitions on the other fide of the
comb, and the point of it by the common interfeciion
of thofe three partitions.

One inilance niore of the mathematical fkill dif-
played in the ftructure of a honey-comb deferves to
be mentioned.

It is a curious mathematical problem, at what
prccifc angle the three planes which compofe the
bottom of a cell ought to meet, in order to make
the greateft poffible laving, or the leaft expence, of
material and labour.

This is one of thofe problems, belonging to the
higher parts of mathematics, which are called pro-
blems of juaxima and fiiinima. It has been refolvcd
by fome mathematicians, particularly by the ingeni-
ous Mr. Maci-aurin, by a fluxionary calculation,
M'hich is to be found in the Tranfaclions of the
Royal Society of London. He has determined pre-
cifely the angle required ; and he found, by the moft
exact nienfuration the fubjet^ could admit, that it
i-.the very angle, in which the three planes in the
bottom of tlie cell of a honey-comb do acflually
meet.

Shall we afk here, who taught the bee the pro-
perties of folids, and to refolve problems of maxima
and minima ? If a honey-comb were a work of hu-
man art, every man or common fenfe would con-
clude, without hcfitation, that he who invented tjie
condruclion, mulihave underflood the principles on
which it is conftrucled.

104 ESSAY III. Chap. IT.

We need not fay that bees know none of thefe
things. They work mofl: geometrically, without
any knowlcd^^e of geometry ; fomevvhat like a child,
who, by turning the handle of an organ, makes
good mufic, without any knowledge of muiic.

The art is not in the child, but in him who made
the organ. In like manner, when a bee makes its
combs fo geometrically, the geometry is not in the
bee, but in that great Geometrician who made the
bee, and made all things in number, weight and
me.ifure.

To return to inflincls in man ; thofe are moft re-
markable which appear in infancy, when we are
ignorant of every thing ncceffary to our preferva-
tion, nnd therefore mufl perifh, if we had not aa
inviiible Guide, who leads us blind-fold in the way
we fhould take, if we had eyes to fee it.

i^eiides the infdncls which appear only in infancy,
and arc int:nded to fiipply the want of underftand-
i:-g in tha. early period, there are many which con-
tinue throu:^h life, and whiqa fupply the defects of
ojr intellectual powers in every period. Of thefe
we may obferve three ciafics.

Firji, There are many things neceifary to be done
for our prefervation, which, even when we will to
do, we know not the means by which they muft be
done.

A man knows that he muft fwallow his food before
it can nourifh him. But this aclion requires the co-
operation of many nerves and mufclcs, of which he
knows nothing ; and if it were to be directed folely
by his underrtanding and will, he would ftarve before
he learned how to perform it.

Here inftinct comes in to his aid. He needs do
no more than will to fwallow. All the requifite mo-
tions of nerves and mufcles immediately take place
in their proper order, without his knowing or wil-
ling any thing about them^

INSTINCT. 105

If we alk here, whofe will do thefe nerves and
mufcles obey ? Not his, furely, to whom th'^y
belong. He knows neither their names, nor nature,
nor oiTice ; he never thought of them. They are
moved by fome impulfe, of which the caufe is un-
known, Vv'ithout any thought, will or intention on
his part, that is, they are moved in{lin(5lively.

This is the cafe, in fome degree, in every volun-
tary motion of our body. Thus, I will to ftretch
out my arm. The effect immediately follows. But
we know that the arm is {tretched out by the con-
tracTcion of certain mufcles ; and that the mufcles
are contrafled by the influence of the nerves. I
know nothing, I think nothing, either of nerves or
mufcles, when I ftretch out my arm ; yet this ner-
vous influence, and this contraction of the mufcles,
uncalled by me, immediately produce the effecl:
which I willed. This is, as if a weight were to be
raifed, which can be raifed only by a complication
of levers, pullics, and other mechanical powers,
that are behmd the curtain, and altogether unknown
to me, I will to raife the weight ; and no fooner is
this volition exerted, than the machinery behind
the curtain falls to v/orkand raifes the weight.

If fuch a cafe Ihould happen, vv^e would conclude,
that there is fome perfon behind the curtain, who
knew my will, and put the machine in motion to
execute it.

The cafe of my willing to ftretch out my arm, or
to fwallow my food, has evidently a great flmilarity
to this. But who it is that ftands behind the cur-
tain, and fets the internal machinery a-going, is
hid from us ; fo ftrangely and wonderfully are we
made. This, however, is evident, that thofc in-
ternal motions are not willed nor intended by us,
and therefore arc inftiuclive.

A fccond cafe in which we have need of Inftinct,
even in advanced life, is, When the acTion muft be
fo frequently repeated, that to intend and will it

every

io6 ESSAY III. Chap. II.

every time it is done, would' occupy too much of
our th()U!:^ht, and leave no room for otJicr neceil'ary
employments of the mind.

AVe muft breathe often every minute whether
awake or allcep. We muft often clofe the eye-lids,
in order to preferve the luftre of the eye. If thefe
things required particular attention and volition
every time they are done, they v/ould occupy all our
thought. Nature therefore gives an impulfc to do
them as often as is neceflary, without any thought
at all. Tliey confume no time, they give not the
leaft interruption to any exercife of the mind ; be-
caufe they are done by inftincl.

A third cafe. In which we need the aid of inftind,
is, "When the action muft be done fo fuddenly, that
there is no time to think and determine. When a
man lofes his balance, either on foot or on horfeback,
he makes an inftantaneous eiTort to recover it by
inftincf. Hie elfort would be in vain, if it waited
the determination of rcafon and will.

When any thing threatens our eyes, we wink
hard, by inftinct, and can hardly avoid doing fo,
even when we know that the ftroke is aimed in jeft,
and that we are perfectly fare from danger. I have
feen this tried upon a wager, which a man was to
gain if he could keep his eyes open, while another
aimed a ftroke at them in jeft. The diiliculty of
doing this fliews that there may be a ftruggle be-
tween inftincf 2nd will ; and that it is not cafy to
rcftft the impulie of inftinct, even by a ftrong refo-
lution not to yield to it.

Thus the merciful Author of our nature, hath
adapted our inftincls to the defects, and to the
weaknefs of our underftanding. In infancy we are
ignorant of every thing ; yet many things muft be
clone by us for our prelervation : Thefe arc done by
inftinct. When wc grov^- up there are many motions
of our limbs and bodies neceftary, \vhicJi can be
pir:ormcd only by a curious and complex internal

machinery ;

INSTINCT. i6J

machinery ; a machinery of which the bulk'of man-
kind arc totally ignorant, and which the moft fkilful
anatomift knows but imperfectly. All this machi-
nery is fet a-going by inlHncl. We need only to
will the external motion, and all the internal moti-
ons, previoufly neceffary to the eflecl:, take place of
thcmlelves, without our will or command.

Som»e actions muft be fo often repeated, through
the whole of life, that, if they required attention
and will, we fliould be ahle to do nothing elk :■
Thefe go on regularly by inftincl.

Our prefervation from danger often requires fuch
fuddcn exertions, that there is no time to think and
to determine : Accordingly we make fuch exertions
by inftinct.

Another thing in the nature of man, which I take
to be partly, tiiough not wholly, inftin£tive, is his
pronenefs to imitation.

AiiisTorr.K obfcrved, long ago, that man is art
imitative animal. He is fo in more refpecls than one.
He is difjpofcd to imitate what- he approves.- In ail
arts men learn more, and more agreeably, by ex-*
ample than by rules. Imitation by the chilTel, by
the pencil, by defcription profaic and pOetical, and
by adtion and gcfture, have been favourite and ele-*
g.mt entertainments of the whole fpccies. In all
thefe cafes, howe\)^er, the iniitation is intended and
willed, and therefore carinot be faid to be in-
ftint'tive.

But, I apprehend, that hufnan nattire difpcfes us
to the imitation of thofe among whom Me live,
when we neither dcfirc nor will it.

Let an Engliihman, of middle age, take up his
refidefice in Edinburgh or Glafgow ; although he has
not thelcail: intention to ufe the Scots dialed, but a
firm refolution to prcferve his owti pure and un-
mixed, he \ull find it very difficult to make good
his intention. He will, in a courfe of years, fdl in-
ienfiblyj and without intention, into the tone and

accent,

i®8 ESSAY in. CiAP. ir.

accent, and even into the words and phrafcs of thofe
he converfes \\ ith ; and nothing can preferve him
from this, but a llrong difguft to every Scoticifni,
which perhaps may overcome the natural inftind.

It is commonly thought that children often learn
to ftammer by imitation ; yet I believe no pcrfon
ever defired or willed to learn that quality.

I apprehend that indinctive imitation has nofmall
influence in forming the peculiarities of provincial
dialeds, the peculiarities of voice, gefture, and m.an-
ner, which we fee in fome families, the manners
peculiar to different ranks, and different profefiions;
and perhaps even in forming national characlers,
and the human character in general.

The inftances that hiftory furnifhes of wild men,
brought up from early years, without the focicty of
any of their own fpecies are fo few that we cannot
build conclufions upon them with great certainty.
But all 1 have heard of agreed in this, that the wild
man gave but very flcnder indications of the rational
faculties ; and, with regard to his mind, was hardly
diftinscuifhable from the more fas;acious of the

o o

brutes.

There is a confiderable part of the loweft rank in
every nation, of whom it cannot be faid that any
pains have been taken by themfelves, or by others,
to cultivate their underftanding, or to form their
manners ; yet we fee an immenfc difference between
them and the wild man.

This difference is wholly the effect of fociety ; and,
I think, it is in a great meafure, though not wholly,
the effect of undefigned and inftinctive imitation.

Perhaps, not only our ad:ions, but even our judg-
ment, and belief, is, in fome cafes, guided by in-
ilinc'l, that is, by a natural and blind impulfe.

When we confider man as a rational creature, it
may fccm right that he fliould have no belief but
what is grounded upon evidence, probable or de-
monftrative ) and it is, I think, commonly taken

for

INSTINCT. 1C9

for granted, that it is always evidence, real or ap-
parent, that determines our belief.

If this be fo, the confequcncc is, That, in no
cafe, can there be any belief, till we find evidence,
or, at leaft, what to our judgment appears to be
evidence. I fufpe(^l it is not fo ; but that, on the
contrary, before wc grow up to the full ufc of our
rational faculties, we do believe, and muft believe,
many things without any evidence at all.

The faculties which \vc have in common with
brute-animals, arc of earlier growth than reafon.
We arc irrational animals for a confidcrable time
before we can properly be called rational. The ope-
rations of reafon fpring up by imperceptible degrees;
nor is it pollible for us to trace accurately the order
in which they rife. The power of reflection, by
v.'hich only \ye could trace the progreft of- our grow-
ing faculties, comes too late to anfwer that end.
Some operations of brute-animals look fo like reafon,
that th^y are not eafily diftinguiflied from it. Whe-
ther brumes have !any thing that can properly be called
belief, I cannot fay ; but<heir"aclions Ihewfomething
that looks very like k.-'- '

If there be any inftinclive belief in man, it is
probably of the fame kind with that which we afcribe
to brutes, and may be fpecifically different from that
rational belief which is grounded on evidence; biit
that there is fomething in man which we call- belief,
which is not grounded "o'n evidence, 1 -think, muft
be o-ranted. -.::sjd -I'-.'l ; lu -% ?i3i/d; r/">7:-..-[

We need to be informed of rnany^rliirigs "be/die
we are capable of difcerning theevidchcCL'^rt' Nthich
they reft. Were our belief to beAvith-held till wc
are capable, in any degree, of weighing evidence,
we fliould lofe all the benefit of that initruftion and
information, without wliich we could nevei*T attain
the ufe of our rational faculties.

Man would never acquire the ufc of reafon if he
were not brought up in the fociety of reafonable

creatures.

ESSAY III. CriAP.II.

preatures. Tlie benefit he receives from focicty, i;;
derived partly from imita.tiouof what he fees others
do, partly from the inftru6lion and information iliey
communicate to him, without which he could nei-
ther be; prefcrved from deUruction, nor acquire the
. yfe of his rational p9wers.

. Children have a thoufand things. to; learn, and
^ they learn many tilings every day ; more than will
be eafily believed by thpfc who have never given at-
tention to their progress.

Opartct difceiitem cr^der^ h -Si Qon\Yf[on adage. Chil-
o^reii have evisry thing- tp^le^rn ; and, in order to
_learn, they piuft^ believe ^jtheir rjnftructors. They
;need a greater iloek of- faith-from infancy to twelve
•,;pr .fpurteen, than, je^'-er-j^aftcr. -3ut Jipw fliall. I hey
r^et this ftoc^ fa nec^flitfy tathem ?; If their ^ajth de-
.pend upgn evidence,- the-ftoGk of, evi4ence, real or
.apparent, -nmit l)G^ir prgiportion to dieir faith. But
^ Aich^ i in • T^^Jity, . i^ ■ tiif jr - fituation, that ; \ylien tlieir
...faith muft be greatefty -^lier evidence is. leaft. They
i))elicve a' tli<p,uiand'th:i>igs. before they ever, fpcnd a
-rthqught oipon evi4€nce. Nature fuppdies, the want
of evidence, and gives them_^-j^ji{\i]^cliye_, kind ,of
;.faith Vv'ithout evidence.

, ;:?l'h,€y believe implicitly >y]>atcver ,they are told,
-andf receive-, with alfurance the tefiimony .of every
:( one, without ever thinking of a xcafon why they

^^10U14'^9 io. ;;

11 A paf^cnt or. a malt&r .mjght cprarnand them to

believe ; but in vain ; for belief is not in.our ppwer;
^-but iur the liril- part of ;life,, it is governed by mere
i:teftimp,ny,ii)^li;\atters of fact, -j^nd by. mere authority
sin ail Qth?r.i?i^tters,rno:iefs,than by eyixicncc in riper

years, .M -.-> ,

It is^o-f the VvordS) of the t^sfllaer, but his. belief,
r.^hat pro4u;ces tliis belief. in a child : For chjldr.en

focm learn to diilinguifli v.rhat is faid in jeft, from
- what is faid in good earneft. . "VVhat appears to.them

to be Jiiid in jcll> produces jiQ beiitrf- T^i^y:;S?9ry

1 N''fi t I N c r.

Jiai

in flicwing tluit thry are not to be impofed on.
When the ilgns ot belief in the Ipeaker arc ambigu-
ous, it is pieafant to o'bferve with what fagacity they
pry into his featurcs, to difccrn whether he really
believes what he lays, or only counterfeits beliet".
As Toon as this point is determined, their beliet is
regulated by his. If he be doubtful, they are doubt-
ful, if he be allured, they are ^Ifo allured.

It is well known what a deep impreflion religious
principles zealoufly inculcated make upon the minds
of children. The abfurdities of ghoits and hobgobr
iins early imprelfed, havie been' kno-wn to fti(i: {o
fafl:, even in enlightened' minds, <as ta bafile all rati-
onal conviftion. - - . . .; •

When we grow up to the uf&of reafon, tefcimony
attended with certain circumftances, or even autho-
rity, may alford a rational ground of belief ; but
with children, without any regard to circumftances,
cither of them operates like dcmonftration. And as
they fcek no real'on, nor can give) any reafon, for
this regard to teftimony and to authority, it is the
effccl of a natural impulfe, and may be called

inllincl.

Another inftance of belief which appears to_be
inlHii(5live3 is- tha! wJiidi children iheweven in an-
faticy, thiit an event- ^\']i4ch they have . oblbrved ii;
ccrta-rn- circumftances, will hfi|)pen lagain dn -like cir-
cumftances. A child' of half^ a year 'akl, who.has
once burned his finger by putting .it in the candle,
will rot put it there again. - Afid if^youjnake a ixiew
of putting it in the candle 4}y 'force, you fee the moft
manifeft ligns that he'l)»eli«vc-y hcihaiianect with the
lame calamity. r ,' .•'".- , • . ,.,!,.,

Mr. HtiMj- hath '{hewn very xJearly, that this
belief- is not the effcfd either of reafon or experience.
He endeavours to-account for it ,by tlie aftbciation of
ideas. Thou'/h I am not latisficd with his account
of this p]j:tiH)menon, I Ihall not now examine it ;
becaufr it i>ifuliicieat for the prefcnt argument, that

thij

12 E S S A Y m. Chap. lit

this belief is not grounded on evidence, real or ap-
parent, which I think he clearly proves.

A perion who has lived io long in the world, as
to obfcrve that nature is governed by fixed laws,
may have fome rational ground to expect fimilar
events in fimilar circumilances ; but this cannot be
the- cafe of the child. His belief therefore is not
grounded on evidence. It is the refult of his con.
IHtution.

Nor is it the lefs fo, though it fhould arife from
the allbciation of ideas. For what is called the affo-
ciation of ideas is a law of nature in our conftitution;
which produces its effects without any operation of
reafon on our part, and in a manner of which we
are entirely ignorant*

CHAR III.

Of Habit,

H.ABIT differs from inftin(5l, not in its nature,
but in its origin ; the latter being natural, the for-
mer acquired. Both operate without v/ili or inten-
tion, without thought, and therefore may be called
mecbanicrri principles.

Habit is commonly defined, y/ facility of doing a.
tiling, acquired by having done it frequently. This de-
finition is furncient for habits of art ; but the habits
wliich may, with propriety, be called principles of
action, mull give more than a facility, they mud
give an inclination or impulfe to do the action ; and
that, in many cafes, habits have this force, cannot
be do'jbtcd.

How ir uy aukward habits, by frequenting im-
proper company, are children apt to learn, in their

addreis,

0 T H A B I T. T'i"3

addi-iels, motioiL, looks, gefturc and prohunciation !
ITiey acquire fuch habits commonly from an undc-
iigncd and inftinctivc imitation, before they can
jud^e of what is proper and becomini^-.

When they areahttle advanced in underftanding,
they miry eafily be convinced that fuch a thing is un-
becoming, they may refolve to forbear it, but when
the habit is formed, fuch a general rcfolution is not
of itfelf fufilcient ; for the habit will operate with-
out intention ; and particular attention is neceiT.iry,
On every occafion, to refill its impulfe, Until it be
undone by the habit of oppofing it.

It is owing to the force of habits, early acquired
by imitation, that a man who has grown up to man-
hood in the lou eft rank of Hfe, if fortune raife him
to a higher rank, ver)'- rarely acquires the air and
manners of a gentleman.

When to that inftinctive imitation, which I fpoke
of before, we ioin the force of habit, it is eafy to
fee, that thefe mechanical principles have no fmall
fharc in forming the manners and character of moft
men.

The difficulty of overcoming vicious habits has,
in all ages, been a common topic of theologians and
moralifts ; and we fee too many fad examples to per-
mit us to doubt of it.

There are good habits, in a moral fenfe, as well
as bad; and it is certain, that the ftated and regular
performance of what we approve, not only make:*
it eafy, but makes us uneafy in the omifTion of it.
This is the cafe, ev-^en when the action derives all its
goodnefs from the opinion of the pertormer. A gj')d
illiterate Roman Catholic does not ileep found if he
goes to bed without telling his beads, and repeating
prayers v/hich he does not underftand.

Aristotle makes wifdom, prudence, good fenfe,
fcicnce and art, as well ar, the moral virtues and
vices, to be hiihits. If he meant no more, by giving
this name to all thofc intclle<5tual and moral qualities.

114 E S S A Y II. Chap. III.

th.in that they are all ftrengthened and confirmed by
repeated acls, this is undoubtedly true. I take the
word in a lefs exteniive fenfc, when I confidcr habits
as principles of action. I conceive it to be a part of
our conttitution, that what we have been accuftom-
ed to do, we acquire, not only a facility, but a
pronenefs to do on like occafions j fo that it requires
a particular will and effort to forbear it, but to do
it, requires very often no will at all. We are car-
ried by habit as by a ftream in fwimming, if we
make no refiftance.

Every art furnifhes examples both of the power
of habits and of their utility ; no one more than the
moft common of all arts, the art of fpeaking.

Articulate language is fpoken, not by nature, but
by art. It is no eafy matter to children, to learn the
fimple founds of language ; I mean, to learn to pro-
nounce the vowels and confonants. It would be
much more difficult, if they were not led by inftincl
to imitate the founds they hear ; for the difficulty is
vaftly greater of teaching the deaf to pronounce the
letters and words, though experience fliows that it
can be done.

What is it that makes this pronunciation fo eafy at
laft which was fo difficult at firft ? It is habit.

But from what caufe does it happen, that a good
fpeaker no fooner conceives what he would cxprefs,
than the letters, fyllables and words arrange them-
felves according to innumerable rules of fpcech,
while he never thinks of thefe rules ? He means to
exprefs certain fentiments ; in order to do this pro-
perly, a felection muft be made of the materials,
out of many thoufands. He makes this felection
without any expence of tim.e or thought. The ma-
terials fclected mull be arranged in a particular order,
according to innumerable rules of grammar, logic
and rhetoric, and accompanied with a particular
tone and emphafis. He does all this as it were by
infpiration, v/ithout thinking of any of thefe rules,
and without breaking one of them.

Thi«

O F H A B I T. 115

This art, if it were not more common, would ap-
pear more wonderful, than that a man fliould dance
blind-fold amidll a thoufand burning plough-fliares,
without being burnt ; yet all this may be done by
habit.

It appears evident, that as, without inftincl, the
infant could not live to become a man, fo, without
habit, man would remain an infant through life,
and would be as helplels, and as much a child in un-
derftanding at threcfcore as at three.

1 fee no reafon to think, that we fhall ever be able
to afTign the phyfical caufe, either of inftinct, or of
the power of habit.

Both feem to be parts of our original conftitution.
Their end and ufe is evident ; but we can aflign no
caufe of them, but the will of him who made us.

With regard to inftinct, which is a natural pro-
penfity, this will perhaps be eafily granted ; but it is
no lefs true with regard to that power and inclinati-
on which wc acquire by habit.

No man can fhew a reafon why our doing a thing
frequently (liould produce either facility or inclina-
tion to do it.

The fad is fo notorious, and fo conftantly in our
eye, that we are apt to think no reafon fliould be
fought for it, any more than why the fun fliines.
But there muft be a caufe of the fun's fliining, and
there muft be a caufe of the power of habit.

We fee nothino: analosfous to it in inanimate mat-
ter, or in things made by human art. A clock or a
watch, a waggon or a plough, by the cuftom of go-
ing, does not learn to go better, or require lefs
moving force. The earth does not increafe in ferti-
lity by the cuftom of bearing crops.

It is faid, that trees and vegetables, by growing
long in an unkindly foil or climate, fometimes ac-
quire qualities by which they can bear its inclemen-
cy with lefs hurt. This, in the vegetable kingdom,
has fome refcmblance to the power of habit ; but, in
inanimate matter, I know nothincr that rcfcmbles it.
li 2 A itone

11^ E S S A Y ni. Chap. I.

A Hone lofjs nothing of its M^ight by beingr Jong
fvpportcd, or made to move upward. A body, by
bciri;^ toHcd about ever fo iorr.;, or ever To violently,
loies nothing of its inertiu^ nor acquires the leait dif-
pofition to change its ilatc. *

ESSAY III. P A Pv T II.

Of Animal Principles of A3ion.
CHAP. I.

Of Appetites.

JriAVING difcourfed of the mechanical principles
of ^(flion, I proceed to confider thofe I called animal.

Thev ure fuch as operr.tc upon the will and inten-
tion, but do not iuppoie any exerclfe of judgment
or reaibn ; and are moil of them to be found in
fome brute-animals, as well as in man.

In *his c'^fs, the firft kind 1 fliall call appetites^ tak-
ing that word in a ftricler fenfe than it is fometimcs
taken, even by good writers.

'\\\Q word appetite is fometimes limited, fo as to
fignify only the defirc of food when we hunger;
fomr inies it is extended fo as to ngnify any flrong
defirc, whatever belts objecl. Without pretending
to cenfure any ufe of the word which cuttom hath
authorifed, I beg leave to llnnt it to a particular clafs
ol dcinvs, which nre diftinguilhed from all others by
the following marks.

Firjt,

OF APPETITES. 117

Firjl^ Every appetite is accompariied with an iin-
cp.fy fenfation proper to it, .which is firong or weak,
in proportion to the dt'ii^-t \Ht have of the object.
Secondly, Appetites are not conftant, but peru .Jical,
being fated by their objects for 3 lime, ar J ixrurn-
ing after certain periods. Such.is the natu: . of thof?
principles of achiun, to which I beg leave, in this
Eil'ay, to appropriate the name of nf^jtines., Thof<?
that are chieily obfervable in man, as v.ell as, in nioft
other animals, are hunger, thiril, and luit., '_■, ,

If we attend to the appeUte of hunger, v/e {hall
find in it two ingredients, an uneafy fenfat^ion. and
a delire to eat. The defire keeps pace with the fqn-
fation, and ceafes wlien it ceafes. V/hen. ?. nran is
fated with eating, both the uneafy fenfation and the
defire to cit ceafc for a time, and return after a cer-
tain interval. So it is wiili other appetites.

In infants, for fonie time a.fter they come into the
world, the uneafy fenfation of hunger is pro]):Trbly
the whole. We canuoL fuppofe in them, before ex-
perience, any conception of eating, nor, conft?-
quently, any defire of it. They are led by mere In-
flinct to fuck when they feel the fenfation of hun-
ger. But when experience has connecled-a in thei^
imagination, the uncaiy fenflition \yith the: means o£
removing it, the delire of the laic conies to be i<) af-
fociated with the fuTi:, that they remain througjh life
infeixirable : Y\.ud v/e give the name of hunger to the
principle tlxat is made up of both.

That the appetite of hunger includes the two in-
gredients I have mentioned will not, I apprehend,
be queilioned. I take notice of it the rather becaufe
w? may, if I miftajvc not, find a iimilar compofitipn
in other principles of action. Tl vty are made up of
dliferent ingredients, and may be analyzed into the
parts that enter into their compofition.

If one Philofopher fliuuld niainlain, that hunger
is an uneafy fenfuion, another, that it is a, defire to
t:4t, t,hey feem to differ widely ; for a defire and a

fenfation

ii8 ESSAY in. Chap. I.

fenfation arc very different things, and have no fimi-
litude. But they are both in the right ; tor hunger
includes both an uneafy fenfation and a dcfire to eat.

Although there has been no fuch difpute among
Philofophers as v^e have fuppofed with regard to
hunger, yet there have been fimilar difputes with re-
gard to other principles of aclion ; and it defervci
to be confidered whether they may not be terminat-
ed in a fimilar manner.

The ends for which our natural appetites are given,
are too evident to efcapc the obfervation of any man
of the lead reflection. Two of thofc I named are
intended for the prefervation of the individual, and
the third for the continuance of the fpecies^

The reafon of mankind would be altogether infuf-
ficient for thefe ends, Avithout the direction and call
of appetite.

Though a man knew that his life muft be fupport-
ed by eating, reafon could not direct him when to
eat, or what ; how much, or how often. In all thefe
thing, appetite is a much better guide than our
reafon. Were reafon only to dired us in this mat-
ter, its calm voice would often be drowned in the
hurry of bufinefs, or the charms of amufemcnt.
But the voice of appetite rifcs gradually, and, at laft,

becomes loud enou2:h to call off our attention from
o

any other employment.

Every man muft be convinced, that, without our
appetites, even fuppofing mankind infpired with all
the knowledge requifite for anfwering their ends,
the race of men muft have pcriftied long ago ; but,
by their means, the race is continued from one ge-
neration to another, whether men be favage or ci-
vilized, knowing or ignorant, virtuous or vicious.

By the fame means, every tribe of brute-animals,
from the whale that ranofes the ocean to the leaft mi-
crofcopic infe6l, has been continued from the begin-
ning of the world to this day j nor has good evi-
dence

OF APPETITES. iip

dence been found, that any one fpecies which God
made has periflied.

Nature has given to every animal, not only an
appetite for its food, but tafte and fmell, by which
it diftinguifiies the food proper for it.

It is pleaflmt to fee a caterpillar, which nature in-
tended to live upon the leaf of one fpecies of plant,
travel over a hundred leaveS of other kinds without
tailing one, till it comes to that which is its natural
food, which it immediately falls on, and devours
greedily.

Moft caterpillars feed only upon the leaf of one
fpecies of plant, and nature fuits the feafon of their
production to the food that is intended to nourilh
them. Many infecis and animals have a greater va-
riety of food ; but, of all animals, man has the
greateft variety, being able to fubfiO; upon almoll
every kind of vegetable or animal food, from the
bark of trees to the oil of whales.

I believe our natural appetites may be made more
violent by exceflive indulgence, and that, on the
other hand, they may be weakened by ftarving.
The firft is often the effect of a pernicious luxury,
the laft may fometimes be the eflet^l of want, fome-
times of fuperftition. I apprehend that nature has
given to our appetites that degree of ftrength which
is moft proper for us ; and that whatever alters their
natural tone, either in excels or in defect, does not
mend the work of nature, but may mar and per-
vert it.

A man may eat from appetite only. So the brutes
commonly do. He may eat to plcale his tafte when
he has no call of appetite. I believe a brute may do
this alfo. He may eat for the fake of health, when
neither appetite nor tafte invites. This, as tar as I
am able to judge, brutes never do.

From fo many different principles, and from ma-
iiy more, the fame acl:ion may be done ; and this
may be laid of moft human actions. From this, it

appears.

,12P E 8 S A Y III. Chap. I.

appears, that very 4i0er«pt: apd centKauy theopita
may fcrve to account for the acrio^nsr of rr.en. Tljifi
caufes afligncd may be fuflkieist to producr the efiect,
iincl yet n-ot be the trvie cauit;s.

To act merely iVom appetite is neither good nor iU
in a m'jJi'al vi<i:;\v. k js neitjier an. ob;iea of p^aife nor
of bla;ine» .No man cL^iraa any praiie beeaufe he cats
when he is hunirry, or. yefts when he is weary. C-n
tl e other hand'^ he is noobjscl: of blame, if he obeya
the eall oF appetite when there is no reafon to hinckc
him. In this he accs agreeably to his nature.

From this we may obtetve, that the d<irinition of
virtuotts a<fiion3, given by tke aneicnt Stoi<:3, and
adopted by 'onie moderji authors, is imperfecl. They
deiined virtuous, aciions; to be fuck as are acccrding.
to naiure. What is doi3« according to the animal part
of ovA'; nature, which is common to'us with the brute-
animals^ is in itieif neither virtuous or vicious, but
perfectly indifferent.^ Then. only itbecomea vitriouci,
when it i^ dor;e in pppofition to fome principle of
fujx-rior importance aip:d authority. And it, may bo-
Y^tU.eu$5 If done for foiji^ important and worth)'"
end..

AppefciteS', confideiTediinj themfsl'ves-,^ are ikeither fb-i
Qij?;! pi=incipl?»; of ac'iioa, pqr felfiih.. Tbf y caenct,
be calkd focial, beeaufe tihey imply no coEicei"n for
the EQod of others> Nor can they juftly be called
felfiiiv though they be commonly referred to that
claf*. An appetite draws us to a certain objedl, with-
out regard to its being good for us, or ill. Thera
is no felf-lov€ imiplied in it any move, than benevo-
lence. We fee, that, in many cafes, appetite may
lt;id a man to what he knows will be to his hurt.
To call this acling from felf-love, is to pervert the
meaning of words. |t is evident, that, in every
cafe of this kind, felf-love is facrificed to appetite.

'llicre are ibme principles of the human frame ve-
ry like to our appetites^ though they do not com.-
monly get thait name.

Men

OF APPETITES. m

Men are made forlat^our either cf body or mind.
Yet cxcciTiVe labour hiirtr, the pcT\'ers of both. I'o
prever.t this hurt, r.ature hiith given to rr.en, and
other auirnals, an uneafy fenfjition, which always at-
tends excelTiv^ labour, and which v.'e call fahpi.e^
'ivmrlnef:^ y Liffitudc- This uneafy ienfiition is conjoin-
ed with the dcfire of reft, or intermiflion of our la-
bour. And thus nature calls us to reft v.hen we arc
weary, in the fame n>anner as X.o cat v* hen we are
kuangry.

In' both cafes there is a defire of a certain obieft,
and an uneafy icr.fation acccrnpanying that d-ciire.
Ixi both cafes the defire is fatiatcd by its objeft, and
returns after certain intervals. In this only they
differ, that in the appetites hrft iTiCntioned, the v.r.-
cafy fenfation arifes at. intervals without a^iion, and
leads to a certain a(!tion : In wearinefs, the uneafy
fenfation arifes from a<fticn too long continued, and
kads to reft.

But nature intended that we fliould be x(5live, prd
we need fome principle to incite us to a£iion, when-
we happen not be invited by any appetite or paflion.

For this end, when llrength and fpirits arc recruit-
ed by reft, nature has made total inaclion a« uneafy
ati exceffive labour.

Vv e may call this the principle oi aSfivity. \th
moft confpicuous in children, who cannot be fuppo-
fed to know how ufefui and neccffary it is for their
improvement to be corftantly employed. Their con-
ftant activity therefore appears not to proceed from
their havii'.g fome end conftantly in view, but rather
from this, that they defire to be always doing fome-
thing, and feel uneafinefs in total inadtion.

Nor is this principle confined to childhood ; it has
great effcd^s in advanced life.

When a man has neither hope, nor fear, nor de-
fire, norprojed^, nor einploymcnt, of body or mind,
one might be apt to think him the hnppicft mortal

upon

I2« ESS A Y III. Chap. I.

upon earth, having nothing to do but to enjoy him-
fclf ; but we find him, in fad, the moft unhappy.

He is more weary of inaction than ever he was of
cxceilive labour. He is weary of the world, and of
his own exillence ; and is more miferable than the
failor wrcftling with a ftorm, or the foldier mount-
ing: 3 breach.

This difmal ftate is comm.only the lot of the man
who has neither exercife of body nor employment of
mind. For the mind, like water, corrupts and pu-
trifies by ftagnation, but by running puriiies and re-
fines.

Befides the appetites which nature hath given us
for ufeful and necelTary purpofes, we may create ap-
petites which nature never gave.

The frequent ufe of things which ftimulate the
nervous fyftem, produces a languor when their ef-
fect is gone off, and a defire to repeat them. By
this means a defire of a certain object is created, ac-
companied by an uneafy fenfation. Both are remov-
ed for a time by the object defired ; but they return
after a certain interval. This differs from natural
appetite, only in being acquired by cultom. Such
arc the appetites which fome men acquire for the ufe
of tobacco, for opiates, and for intoxicating li-
quors.

Thefe are commonly called habits, and juftly. But
there are different kinds of habits, even of the ac-
tive fort, which oucrht to be diiliniiruirucd. Some
habits produce only a facility of doing a thing, v/itn-
out any inchnation to do it. All arts are habits of
this kind, but they cannot be called principles or ac»
tion. Other habits produce apronencls to do an ac-
tion, without thought or intention. Thefe we con-
fidered before as mechanical principles ot a(ftion.
There are other habits which produce a defire of a
certain objed:, and an uneafy fenfation, till it is ob-
tained. It i^ this hit kind only that I call acquired
appetites.

OF APPETITES- 123

As it is beft to prcfervc our natural appetites, in
that tone and dcj^rce of ftrcngth which nature gives
them, To we ought to beware of acquiring appetites
whicli nature never gave. They are always ufelefs*,
and very often hurtful.

Alth()U<2:h, as was before obferved, there be nei-
ther virtue nor vice in acting from appetite, there
may be much of either in the management of our
appetites.

When appetite is oppofed by fome principle draw-
ing a contrary way, there muft be a determination
of the will, which fliall prevail, and this determina-
tion may be, in a moral fenfe, right or wrong.

Appetite, even in a brute-animal, may be reftrain-
cd by a ftronger principle oppofed to it. A dog,
when he is hungry and has meat fet before him, may-
be kept from touching it by the fear of immediate
punifhmcnt. In this cafe his fear operates more
ilrongly than his defirc.

Do we attribute any virtue to the dog on this ac-
count ? I think not. Nor Ihould we afcribe any vir-
tue to a man in a like cafe. The animal is carried by
the ftrongeft moving force. This requires no exer-
tion, no felf-governmcnt, but paflively to yield to
the ftrongeft impulfe. This, I think, brutes always
do; therefore we attribute to them, neither virtue
nor vice. We confider them as being neither objects
of moral approbation, nor difapprobation.

But it may happen, that, when appetite draws one
way, it may be oppofed, not by any appetite or paf-
fion, but by fomc cool principle of action, aa hich has
authority without any impulfive force : For example,
by fomc intcrcft, which is too diftant to raife any
paifion or emotion ; or by fome confideration of de-
cency, or of duty.

In cafes of this kind, the man is convinced that
he ought not to yield to appetite, yet there is not an
equal or a greater impulfe to oppofe it. There are
circumftances, indeed, that convince the judgment,

but

124 ESSAY III. Chap. I.

but thcfe are not fufficieiit to determine the will a-
gainll a ftrong appetite, without felf-government.

I apprehciid that brute-animals have no power of
felf-government. From their conftitution, they muft
be led by the appetite or pafiion which is ftrongeil
for tlie time.

On this account they have, in all ages, and among
all nations, been thought incapable of being govern-
ed by hiv.'s, though fome of them m.ay be fubjecTis of
difcipline.

The fame would be the condition of man, if he
had no power to retrain appetite, but by a ftronger
contrary appetite or pailion. It would be to no pur-
pofe to prcicribe lav/.s to him for the government of
his actions. You might as w^eil forbid the wind to
blow, a& forbid him to follow whatever happens to
give the flrongeft prefent im^ulfe.

Every one knows, that when appetite draws one
way, duty, decency, or even intereft, may draw the
contrary way ; and that appetite may give a Wrong-
er impulfe than any one of thefe, or even all of them
conjoined. Yet it is certain, that, in every cafe of
this- kind, appetite ought to yield to any of thefe prin-
ciples when it ftands oppofed to them. It is in fuch
cafes, that felf-government is necefiary.

The man whp fuffers hin.feif to be led by appetite to
do what he knows he ought not to do, has an imme-
diate and natural conviction that he did wrong, and
might have done otherwife ; and therefore he con-
demns himfelf, and confefies that he yielded to an
appetite whi<:h ought to have been u^dcr his conii-»
mand.

Thus it appears, that though our natural appi?-
tites have in themfelves neither virtue nor vice,
though the acting merely from appetite, when there
i> no principle of greater authority to oppofe it, be a
matter indiiferent ; yet therq may be a great deal of

virtue

O F D E S I R E S. ^^5

virtue or vice in the management of our uppetitcs ;
and that the power of felf-government is necelfaryfor
their rcGTulation.

CHAP. II.

Of Dcfires.

Another clafs of animal principles of a(5liGn
in man, I fhall, for want of a better fpecific name,
call dcfires.

They are diflinguiflied from appetites by this :
That there is not an uneafy fcnfation proper to each,
and always accompanying it ; and tliat they are not
periodical, but conftant, not being fitted with their
objects for a time, as appetites are.

The dcfires I have in view, are chiefiy thefe three,
the dcfire of power, the defire of efleem, and the
dcfire of knowledge.

We may, I think, perceive fome degree of thefe
principles in brute-animals Oi^ the more lligacious
kind ; but in man they are much more confpicuous,
and have a larger fphere.

In a herd of black cattle there is a rank and fub-
ordination. When a flranger is introduced into the
herd, he muft fight every one till his rank is fettled.
Then he yields to the ilrongcr and aflumes authority
over the weaker. The cafe is much the fame in the
crew of a fhip of war.

As foon as nicn affociatc together, the defire of
fuperiority difcovers ili'elf. In barbarous tribes, as
well as among the gregarious kinds of animals, rank
is determined by ihcngth, courage, fwiftnefs, «or
fuch other qualities, /imong civilized nations, ma-
ny things of a different kind give power and rank ;

places

125 ESSAY III. Chap. IL

places in government, titles of honour, riches, wif-
dom, eloquence, virtue, and even the reputation of
thefe. All thefe are either different fpecies of pow-
er, or means of acquiring it ; and when they are
foucrht for that end, mull be confidered as inftanccs
of the dehrc of power.

The defire of cftccm is not peculiar to man. A
dog exults in the approbation and applaufe of his
mailer, and is Iiumbled by his difplcafure. But in
man this defire is much more confpicuous, and ope-
rates in a thoufand different ways.

Hence it is that fb very few are proof againfi; flat-
tery, when it is not very grofs. We wifli to be well
in the opinion of others, and therefore are prone to
interpret in our own favour, the ffgns of their good
opinion, even when they are ambiguous.

There are few injuries that are not more eafy to be
borne than contempt.

We cannot always avoid feeing, in the conduct of
others, things that move contempt ; but, in all po-
lite circles, the figns of it muff be fuppreflfed, other-
wife men could not converfe tosrether.

As there is no quality, common to good and bad
men, more eftcemed than courage, nor any thing in
A inan more the objecl: of contempt than cowardice;
hence every man deffres to be thought a man of cou-
rage ; and the reputation of cowardice is worfe than
death. How many hive died to avoid being thought
cowards? How many, for the fame reafon, have
done what made them unhappy to the end of their
lives.

1 believe many a tragical event, if traced to its
fourcc in human nature, might be referred to the
delire of efteem, or the dread of contempt.

In brute-animals there is fo little th;it can be called
knowledge, that the dcffre of it can make no conli-
derable figure in them. Yet I have feen a cat, when
brought into a new habitation, examine with care,
every corner of it, and anxious to know every lurk-
in cr

O F D E S I R E S. 127

ing pbce, and the avenues to it. And I believe the
ianie thing may be obferved in many other fpecies,
erpecially in thofe that are Hablc to be hunted by man,
or by other animals.

But the dcfirc of knowledge in tlic human fpecies,
is a principle that cannot efcape our obfervation.

The curiofity of children is the principle that oc-
cupies moft of their time while they are awake.
What they can handle they examine on all fides, and
often break in pieces, in order to difcover what is
within.

When men grow up their curiofity does not ceafe,
but is employee! upon other obje6ls. Novelty is con-
fidered as one great fource of the pleafures of tafte,
and indeed is neceifary, in one degree or other, to
[give a relifti to them all.

Wben we fpeak of the defire of knowledge as a
principle of action in man, we muft not confine it
to the purfuits of the Philbfopher, or of the literary
man. The defire of knowledcce difcovers itfelf, in
one perfon, by an avidity to know the fcandal of
the village, and who makes love, and to whom ; in
another, to know the economy of the next family ;
in another, to know what the pofi: brings, and, in
another, to trace the path of a new comet.

When men fhew an anxiety, and take pains to
know what is of no moment, and can be of no ufe
to themfelves or to others, this is trifling, and vain
curiofity. It is a culpable weaknefs and folly ; but
ftill it is the wrong dire(I:lion of a natural principle ;
and ihcws the force of that principle, more than when
it is dire(^ted to matters worthy to be known.

I think it unneceflary to ufe arguments to fhow,
that the defires of power, of efteem, and of know-
ledge, arc natural principles in the conltitution of
man. Thofe who arc not convinced of this by re-
iicciing upon their own feelings and fentiments, will
not eafily be convinced by arguments.

Power,

4a0 E S S A Y at Chap. IL

Power, cftcem and knowledge, are fo ufeful for
many purpofes, that it is eafy to refolve the delirc
of tlicm into other principle.^. Thofc who do fo muft
maintain, that we never dc'ire thel'e ob^scts for their
own fakes, but as means only of procuring pleafurc,
or fomcthing which is a natural ob';c6t of defire.
This, indcer, was the docirine of Epicv«.us ; and it
has had its votaries in modern times. But it has
been obferved, that men defire pofthuaiious fame,
which can procure no plcafuj-c

Epicurus himfelf, thouirh he believed he fhould
have no exiftence after death, was fo de' rous to be
remembered with efteem, that by his ] aft will he ap-
poiiUed his heirs to commiemorate his birth annually,
and to give amonthly feaft to his difciples, upon the
twentieth day of the moon. What pleafure could
this give to Epicurus when he had no exiflence?
. On this account Cicero juftly obferves, that his doc-
trine was refuted by his own pra6tice.

Innumerable inftances occur in life, of men who
iacriiice eafe, pleafure, and every thing elfe, to the
luft of povvcr, of fame, or even of knowledge. It is
abfurd to fuppofe, that men fliould facrilice the end
to what they defire only as the means of promoting
that end.

The natural dcfircsl have mentioned are, in them-
felves, neither virtuous nor vicious. They are part:i
of our conftitution, and ought to be regulated and
rcftrained, when they ftand in competition with
more important principles. But to eradicate them
if it wer? poflible, ( and I believe it is not) would
only be like cutting off a leg or an arm, that is, mak-
ing ourfclv€a other creatures than God has made us.
They cannot, with propriety, be called felfilh
principles, though they have commonly been ac-
count cd fuch.

When power is defired for Its own fake, and not
as the means in order to obtain fomething elfe, this
dcIirc ij neither fel^ili nor focial. When a man

defires

O F D E S I R E S. 12;

dcfires power as the incans of clolnj^ i^ood to oiliiTs,
this is benevolence. When he dcfires it only as the
means of promoting his own good, this is felf-love.
But when he dcfires it for its own fake, this only-
cm properly be called the defirc of power ; and it
implies neither fclf-love nor benevolence. The fame
thing may be applied to the delires of efLcem and of
knowledge.

The wife intention of nature in giving us thefe
dcfires, is no lefs evident than in giving our natural
appetites.

Without the natural appetites, reafon, as was
before obferved, would be infulfuient, either for
the prefervation of the individual, or the continua-
tion of tiie fpecies ; and without the natural dcllrcj
we have mentioned, human virtue would be infuHi-
cient to influence mankind to a tolerable conduct in
ibciety.

To thefe natural defires, common to good and to
bad men, it is owinir, that a man, who has little or
no regard to virtue, may notwithitanding be a good
member of fociety. It is true, indeed, that perfecl
virtue, joined with perfecl knowledge, would make
both our appetites and defires unneceflary incum-
brances of our nature ; but as human knowledge
and human virtue are both very imperfect, thefe
appetites and defires are neceifary lupplements to our
imperfections.

Society, among men, could not fubfift without a
certain degree of that regularity of conduct whicli
virtue prcfcribes. To this regularity of conduct,
men who have no virtue arc induced by a regard to
characler, fometimes by a regard to intcreft.

Kvcn in thofc who arc not dcllitute of virtue, a
regard to character is often an ufeful auxiliary to it,
when i)Oth principles concur in their direction.

The purfuits of power, of fame, and of know-
ledge, require :i fclf-command no lefs than virtue
docs. !n our behaviour towards our fcllow-cr:;i-

I tures,

130 ESSAY III. Chap. II.

turcs, they j:^cnerally lead to that very condiicl which
virtue requires. I fay geufraHy, for this, lu) doubt,
aciir.its of exceptions, cfpecially in the cafe of am-
bitio;\, or the delire of power.

I'f.e evils which am'bition has produced in the
world are a common topic of declamation. But it
ought to be oljferved. th.it where it has led to one
adion hurtful to fociety, it has led to ten thoufand
that r.rc bcnchcial to it. And we juftly look upon
the want of ambition as one of the moft unfavour-
able fymptoms in a man's temper.

The defires of eftcem and of knowledge are highly
ufeful to fociety, as well as the defire of power, and,
at the fame tim.e, are lefs dangerous in their ex-
cciles.

Altliough aclions proceeding merely from the love
of power, of reputation, or of knowledge, cannot
be accounted virtuous, or be entitled to moral ap-
probation ; yet we allow them to be manly, inge-
nuous, and fuited to the digiiity of human nature ;
and therefore they are entitled to a degree of efti-
mation, fuperlor to thoic v/hich proceed from micrc
appetite.

Alkxandi-r the Great defcrved that epithet in
the early part of his life, when eafc and })leafure,
and every appetite, were facrificed to the love of
glory and power. But when we view him conquer-
ed by oriental luxury, and ufmg his power to grati-
fy his paffions and appetites, he fmks in our efteem,
and fecms to forfeit tlie title A\hich he had ac-
quired.

Sardanapalits, who is f^.id to have purfucd
pleafure as eagerly as Ali xakdkr purfued glory,
never obtained from mar^kind the appellation of
the Great.

Appetite is the principle of moft of the actions of
brut'.s, and we account it brutal in a man to employ
himlcif chiefly in the gratification of his appetites.
Thvi defires of power, of cltcem, and of knowledge,

are

O F D E S I R E S. 131

arc capital parts ia the conditution of man ; and
the actions proceeding from them, tliough not pro-
perly virtuous, are human and manly ; and they
claim ajuil lupcriority over thofe that proceed from-
appetite. This, I think, is the univcrfal and un-
biafl'cd judgment of mankind. Upon what gvound
this judgment is founded, may delerve to be con-
lidered in its proper place.

Tile defircs we have mentioned are not only highly
ufeful in fociety, and in their nature more noble
tlian our appetites, they are likewife the moft proper
engines that can be ufcd in the education and difci-
pline of men.

In training brute animals to fuch habits as they
are capable of, the fear of punidiment is the chief
inftrumcnt to be ufed. But in traininir men of in-
geuuous difpofition, ambition to excel, and the love
of efteem, are much nobler and more powerful
engines, by M'hicli they may be led to worthy con-
duct, and trained to good haluts.

To this we may add, that the defircs wc have
mentioned are \ery friendly to real virtue, and make
it more eafy to be acquired.

A man that is not quite abandoned muft behave
fo in fociety as to preferve fome degree of reputati-
on. This every man dcfires to do, and the greater
part actually do it. In order to this, he muft ac-
quire the habit of rcftraining his appetites and paf-
fions v.'ithin the bounds vdiich common decency re-
quires, and To as to niake himfelf a tolerable mem-
ber of fociety, if not an ul'eful and agreeable
one.

It cannot be doubted that many, frqm a regard
to characTier and to the opinion of others, are led to
make themfelves both uleful and agreeable members
of fociety, in whom a fenfc of duty has but a fmall
influence.

Thus men, living in fociety, efpeclally in polifhcd
fuciety, arc tamed and civilized by the principles

I z that

1-2 ESSAY III. Chap. IT.

that are common to c^ood and bad men. Tliey are
tau'^ht to bring thsir appetites and paHlon^ under
due rcftraint before the eyes of m.en, v/hich makes
It more eafy to bring them under the rein of
virtue.

As a horfe that is broken is more eafily managed
than an unbroken colt, fo the man who has under-
gone the difcipline of fociety is more tractable, and
is in an excellent (late of preparation for the difci-
pline of virtue ; and that felf-command, which is
neccffary in the race of ambition and honour, is an
attainment of no fmall importance in the courfe of
virtue.

For this reafon, I apprehend, they err very grofsly
who conceive the life of a hermit to be favourable
to a courfe of virtue. The hermit, no doubt, is
free from fome temptations to vice, but he is de-
prived of many flrong inducements to felf-govern-
ment, as well as of every opportunity of exercifmg
the fecial virtues.

A very ingenious author has refolved our moral
fentiments refpecling the virtues of felf-government,
into a regard to the opinion of men. This I think
is giving a great deal too much to the love of eftecm,
and putting the fhadov/ of virtue in place of the
fubftancc ; but that a regard to the opinion of others
is, in moil inftances of our external behaviour, a
great inducement to good conduct, cannot be doubt-
ed. For, whatever men may practife themfelvcs,
they will always approve of that in others which
they think right.

It was before obferved, that, befides the appetites
which nature has given us, we may acquire appetites
which, by indulgence, become as importunate as
the natural. The fame thing may be applied to
defires.

One of the mofi: remarkable acquired defires is
that of money, which, in commercial ll:ates, will be
found in moll men, in one degree or other, and, in

fome

O F D i: SIRE '3. 133

1 .»iiic men, fwallows up every other dellre, appeliie
ind piiflioru

The deiire of money can then only be Liccounted
a principle o't a.tion, when it is ueilreJ for iu own
liike, and not merely as the means of procuring'
iomething elfe.

It loenis evident, that there is in niifers fuch a
deiirc of money ; and, I iuppofe, no man will fay
that it is natural, or a part of our original conllitu-
tion. It fcems to be the elfecl of habit.

In commercial nations, money is an inftrumcnt by
which almoll every thing may be procured that is
defircd. Being ufeful iov rr.any dilfcrent purpofes
as tlie means, fome men lofe hglit of the end, and
terminate their dcfirb upon the means. Money is
aifo a fpecies of power, putting a man in condition
to do many things which he could not do without
it ; and power is a natural ohjec"t of defire, even
\\hen it is not exercifed.

In like manner, a man may acquire the dellre of
a title of honour, of an equipage, of an eftatc.

Although our natural delires are highly beneficial
to fociety, and even aiding to virtue, yet acquired
delires are not only ufeful, but hurtful and even
dilgracefui.

No man is adiamed to own, that he loves power,
that he loves eiieem, thai he loves knowledirc, for
tlieir own fake. There maybe an cxcefs in the love
of thc-e things, wluch ij a blemifh ; but there is a
degree of it, which is natural, and is no blemifl^
To love n^.oney, litles (ir equipage, on any other ac-
count than as they are ufeful or ornamental, is al-
lowed by all to bewe.iknefs and folly.

I'he natural defires I have been conlidcrins:, thou^rh
tiiey cannot be calledy.>r<\// principles oi action in the
common fenfe of that word, iince it is not their
object to procure any good or benefit to others, yet
tiicy have fjch a relation to fociety, as to fliew '.:io(l

evidently

I-J/l

ESS A Y III. Cha!', III.

cvivlei'lly the intention of nature to be, that man
Ihoiild live in ibcicty.

Tiic dclire of knowledge is not more natural than
is the deiire of communicating our knowledge.
Kvcn power would be lefs valued if there were no
opportunity of fliewing it to others. It derives half
its value from that circumftance. And as to the
xlcfire of eftecm, it can have no poflible gratification
but in fociety.

Thefc parts of our conftitution, therefore, are
evidently intended for focial life ; and it is not more
evident that birds were made for flying and fifaes for
fwimming, than that ma-n, endowed with a natural
deiire of power, of efieem, and of knowledge, is
made, not for the favage and folitary ftate, but for
living in fociety.

C II A P. III.

Of Benevolent AjfcCJion in general,

VV E have feen how, by inftincl and habit, a kind
of mechanical principles, nran, without any expcnce
of thought, without deliberation or will, is led to
many actions, necefl'ary for his prefervation and well-
being, which, without thofe principles, all liis (kill
and wifdom vvould not have been able to accom-
plifh.

It mav perhaps be thought, that his deliberate and
voluntary aclions are to be guided by his rcalon.

But it ought to be obferved, that he is a voluntary
^gent long before he has theule of reafon. Reafon
nnd virtue, the prtTogatives of man, are of the
late'R growth. Ihey conic to maturity by How

degrees,

Of BENEVOLENT AFFECTION in GENERAL. 135

degrees, and are too weak, in t!ie greater part of
the fpecic ;, to iecure the preiervation of individuals
and of coniiimnities, and to produce that varied
fcene of human life, in which tlicy are to be exer-
cifed and improved.

«i^hcrefore the wife Author of our being hath im-
phinted in human nature many inferior principles of
aciion, which, with little Or no aid of reaibn or
virtue, preferve thefpecies, and produce the variou>j
exertions, and the various clianges and revolutions
which v.e oblbrve upon the theatre of life.

In this bufy fcene, reafon and virtue have accefs
to act their parts, and do often produce great and
good eflecfs ; but whether they interpofe or not,
there are a^lors of an inferior order that will carry
on the play, and produce a variety of events, good
or bad.

Keafon, if it were perfect, would lead men to
ufe the proper means of prefer ving their own lives,
and continuing their kind. But the xVuthor of our
being hath not thought lit to leave tliis talk to rea-
fon alone, othcrwife the race would Ions: a.'^fo have
been cxtin<fi. He hath given us, in common with
other animals, appetites, by which thofe important
purpoCes are lecured, whether men be wife or fooiiih,
virtuous or vicious.

Realon^ if it were perfeci, would lead men nei-
ther to lufe the benefit of their acdve powers by
inaciivity, nor to overiirain them by exceflive l:i-
bour. But nature hath given a powcriul alii Rant to
real<)i), by making iiKicilvity a grie\-ous pur.iihment
to itlelf i a:xi by annexing the pain ot I.iilliude to
exceflive labour.

Reafon, if it were pcrfecl, would lead us to de-
(ire power, knowledge, and tlie elleem and afleciion
of our fellow-men, as means of promotij^.g our own
h,ipj-/inefi, and of being ulelui to others. Ke c
again, uaturc, to I'upnly the defects of reafon, hath
given us a ftrong natural defirc of thofe {>l)iecl:s,

whicii

136 ' ESSAY III. Chap. III.

which leads us to purfue them without regard to
their lUiHty.

Thefe principles we have already confidered ; and,
we may ohlerve, that ail of them have things, not
pcrfons, for their object. They neither imply any
good nor ill affection towards any other perfon,«^or
even toward.] ourfclves. They cannot therefore,
with propriety, be called cither /cl/r/J:; or focial. But
there are various principles of action in man, which
have perfons for their immediate obieCi, and imply,
in their very nature, our being well or ill atfe6led to
fom.e perfon, or, at leaft, to fome animated being.

Such principles I fhall call by the general name of
affcdions ; wiiethcr they difpofc us to do good or.
hurt to others.

Perhaps, in giving them this general name, I ex-
tend the meaning of the word ajf'cdion beyond its
common ufe in difcourfe. Indeed our language
ieems in this to have departed a little from analogy :
For we ufe the \crh ajjict, and the participle ^fcrr/f^^,
in an indifferent fenfe, fo that they may be joined
cither M'ith good or ill. *A man may be faid to be
ill aficifted towards another man, or well afiected.
But the Vvord ajfeflion, which, according to analogy,
ouGcht to have the fame latitude of fi^nification with
that from which it is derived, and therefore ought
to be applicable to ill affections as well a^, to good,
feems, by cuftom, to be limited to good affections.
When we fpeak of having affection for any perfon,
it is always underftood to be a benevolent affection.

INIalevolent principles fuch as anger, refentment,
envy, are not commonly called affections, but rather
pajjions.

I take the reafon of this to be, that the malevo-
lent affections are almoft always accompanied with
that perturbation of mind which M-e properly call
pcijfion ; and this paffion, being the moft confpicuous
ingredient, gives its name to the whole.

Ev<?n

Oi- BENEVOLLNT ArFECTION in GENERAL. 137

Even love, vvhcn it goes beyond a certain degree,
is called a pa/Jlon. But it gets not that name when it
is (o moderate as not to difcompofe a man's mind,
nor deprive him in any meaCure of the government
of himfelf.

♦As we give the name of pajjion^ even to benevo-
lent aiVcclion wlicn it is fo vehement as to difcompofe
the mind, fo, 1 think, without trefpafling much
againll propriety of words, we may give the name
of affection even to malevolent principles, when un-
attended with that difturbance of mind which com-
monly, though not always, goes along with them,
and which has made them get the namcof j^^7///(5^v.

The principles which lead us immediately to dc-
firc the good of others, and thofc that lead us to
defire their hurt, agree in this, that pcrfons, and
not things, are their immediate objecl. Both imply
our being fome way affecled towards the perfon.
They ought therefore to have fome common name
to expreis what is common in their nature ; and I
know no name more proper for this than ajftdion.

Taking afTccliion therefore in this extenlive fenfe,
our alfcctions are very naturally divided into bene-
volent and malevolent, according as they imply our
being well or ill aticctcd towards their objecl.

There arc fome things common to all benevolent
afTecfions, others wherein they difil-r.

They differ both in the feeling, or fenfation,
which is an ingredient in all of them, and in the
objects to which they arc direcicd.

They all agree in two things, to wit, That the
feeling which accompanies them is agreeable ; and
that they imply a dchre of good and happinefs to
their obje<5t.

The a He cf ion we bear to a parent, to a child, to a
benefaclor, to a perfon in dilhxfs, to a millrefs,
differ not more in their objccT:, tlian in the feelings
they produce in the mind. We have not names to
cxprcfs the differences of thcfc feelings, but every

man

138 ESSAY in. Chap. III.

man is confclous of a dlfTcrencc. Yet, witli all this
ditrcrcncc, they A<rrcc in beinir airreea'olc feeling;:^.

I know no exception to this rule, if we dillin-
guifli, as we ought, the feeling which naturally and
jieceirarily attends the kind an'cclion, from thofe
which accidentally, in certain circumftances, it may
produce.

The parental affection is an agreeable feeling ; but
it makes the misfortune or miibehaviour of a child
give a deeper wound to the mind. Pity is an agree-
able feeling, yet diftrefs, which v/e arc not able to
relieve, may give a painful fympathy. Love to one
of the other fcx is an agreeable feeling ; but where
it does not meet with a proper return, it may give
the mod pungent difrrefs.

The joy and comfort of human life confifts in the
reciprocal exercife of kind affections, and without
them life would be undefirable.

It has been obit rvcd by Lord Shaftesbury, and
by many other judicious morallils. That even the
epicure and the cle banc hee, who are thought to place
all their happinefs in the f^ratifications of fenfe, and
to purfue thefe as their only object, can find no relifh
in folitary indulgences of this kind, but in thofe
only that are mixed with focial intercourfe, and a
reciprocal exchange of kind aii'eclions.

CiciiRO has obferved, that the word conrlviKiii,
■w^hich in Latin figriines a fealt, itj not borrowed from
eating or from drinking, but from that focial inter-
courfe whicli, being the chief part of fuch an enter-
tainment, gives the name to the whole.

Mutual kind aficclions are undoubtedly tlie balm
of life, and of all the enjtrymcnts conrnHni to good
and bad men, are the chief. If a nicin had no per-
fon whom he loved or eftecmed, no pcrfon who
loved or eflecmcd him, how wretched imiit his con-
dition be! Surely a nun capable of refieclion would
chufe to pafs out of cxillence, rather tlian to live in
fach a ftate.

Of benevolent AFFECTION tN GENERAL. 1 39

It has been, by the Poets, reprcrcnted as the flats
of Ibme bloody and barbarous tyrants ; but Poets
are allowed to paint a little beyond the life. Atreus
is represented as faying, (Jikrint dKm mctudnt. " I
" care not for their hatred, providing they dread
" my power." 1 belifvc tliere never was a man (o
difpofed towards all mankind. I'he nioft odious
tyrant that ever was, \\ill have his favourites, whofe
aftcclion he endeavours to deferve or to bribe, and
to whom he bears fome good will.

We may therefore lay it down as a principle, that
all benevolent afTeclions are, in their nature, agree-
able ; and tliat, next to a good confciencc, to v.'hich
they are always friendly, and never can be adverfe,
they make the capital part of human hapnincfs.

Another ingredient cil'ential to every benevolent
affection, and from which it takes the name, is a
defire of the good and happinefs of the objefi.

The objcvffof benevolent aii'c^iion therefore, m.ufl
be fome being capable of happinefs. When we fpcak
of affection to a houfe, or to any inanimate thing,
the word has a difrerent meaning. For that which
has no capacity of enjoyment, or of fuffering, may
bo an objeft of liking or difgnff, but cannot pofllbly
be an object either of benevolent or malevolent,
affeclion.

A thing may be dcfired either on its own account,
or as the means in order to fomething elfe. That
only can properly be called an object of defire, M'hich
is defired upon its own account ; and it is only fuch
dclires that 1 call principles of adiion. \\ hen any
thing is defircd as the means only, there muft be an
end for which it is dcfired ; and the dcfire of the
end is, in this caie, the principle of aclion. The
means are defircd only as they tend to that end ; and
if different, or even contrary means tended to the
fame end, they would be equally dcfired.

On this account I confider thofc affections only as
benevolent, where the gocd of the objecf is defircd

ultimately.

1^0 ESS A Y in. Chap. III.

ultimately, and not as the nncans only, in order to
do foniething clfe.

To fay that we defire the good of others, only in
order to procure fonie pleafurc or good to ourlclves,
is to fay that there is no benevolent alfeclion in Jiu-
man nature.

This indeed has been the opinion of fome Philo-
fophers, both in ancient and in later limes. I intend
not to examine this opinion in this place, conceiving
it proper to give that view of the principles of acti-
on in man, which appears tq me to be juft, before
I examine the fyftems wherein they have been mif-
taken or mifreprefented.

I obferve only at prefent, that it appears as un-
reafonablc to rcfolve all our benevolent affeclions in-
to felf-love, as it \yould be to refolvc hunger and
third into felf-love.

Thefe appetites are neceilary for the prcfervatioii
of the individual. Benevolent alTeclions are no lefs
neceifary for the prefervation of fociety among men,
without which man would become an eafy prey to
the beafts of the field.

We are placed in this world, by the Author of
our being, furrounded with many objecis that arc
neceilary or ufeful to us, and with many that may
hurt us. We are led, not by reafon and felf-love
only, but by many inlHncls, and appetites, and na-
tural defires, to feck the former and to avoid the
latter.

But of all the things of this world, man inny be
the moft ufeful, or the moft hurtful to man. Every
man is in the power of every man with whom lie
lives. Every man has power to do much good to
his fellow-men, and to do more hurt.

Wc cannot live without the fociety of men ; r.nd
it would be impoflible to live in fociety, if men were
not difpofed to do much of that r;ood to m.en, and
but little of that hurt, which it is in their power

to do.

• But

Of particular BENEVOLENT AFEECTIONS. 141

But how fliall this end, To nccciliry to the exiftcnce
of humrn focicty, and confequcntly to the exiftence
of tlie human fpccics, be iicconipliihcd ?

If wejudge from analogy, we n.uil conclude, that
in this, as in other parts of our conducl:, our rati-
onal princi;)lcs are aided by principles of an inferior
order, fimilar to thofe by which many brute animals
live in fociety with tlieir fpecies ; and that by means
of fuch principles, that dej^ree of rei^ularity is ob-
ferved, which we find in all fi)cieties of men, whe-
ther wife or foolifh, virtuous or vicious.

The benevolent affcvJ^lions planted in human na-
ture, appear therefore no lefs neceflary for the prc-
fervation of the human fpccics, than the appetites of
hunger and thirft.

C li A P. IV.

Of the particular Benevoletit Aftclluns.

JTlAVING premifed thefe things in general con-
cerning benevolent ailedions, I Ihall now attempt
lomc enumeration of them.

1. They/r// I mention is that of parents and cliil-
dren, and other near relations.

This we commonly call natural affeclion. Every
language has a name for it. It is common to us
with moft of the brute-animals ; and is varioufly
modified in different animals, according as it is more
or lefs necclfary lor the prefervation of the fpecies.

Many of the infecT-tribe need no other care of
parents, than that the eggs be laid in a proper place,
where they fhall have neither too little nor too much
heat, and whei^e the animal, as foon as it is hatched,

ihall

142 ESSAY III. Chap. IV.

fli;ill find Its natural food. This care the parent takes,
and no more.

In other tribes, the younj; muft be lodged in fome
fecret place, where they cannot be eafily difcovercd
by their enernies. They muft be cherifhed by the
warmth of the parent's body. They muft be fuck-
Icd, and fed at lirft with tender food; attended in
iheir excurlions, and guarded from danger, till they
have learned by experience, and by the example of
their parents, to provide for their own fubfiftence
and fafety. With what afiiduity and tender affection
this is done by the parents, in every fpecies that
requires it, is well known.

The eggs of the feathered tribe are commonly
liatched by incubation of the dam, who leaves oil' at
once her fprightly motions and migrations, and con-
fines herfelf to her folitary and painful tails:, cheered
by the fong cf her mate upon a neighbouring bough,
and fometimes fed by him, fometimes relieved in
her incubation, while ilie gathers a fcanty meal, and
Avith the greatcft difpatch returns to her poft.

The young birds of many fpecies are fo very ten-
der and delicate, that man, with all his wifdom and
experience, would not be able to rear one to matu-
rity. But the parents, without any experience,
know perfectly how to rear fometimes a dozen or
more at one brood, and to give every one its portion
in due feaion. They know the food bell: fuitcd to
their delicate conftitution, which is fometimes affor-
ded by nature, fometimes muft be cooked and half
digefted in the ftomach of the parent.

In fome animals, nature hath furnilhed the female
with a kind of fecond womb, into which the young
retire occaftonally, for food, warmth, and the
convcniency of being carried about v.'ith the
mother.

It would be endlefs to recount all the various ways
in which the parental affeftion is cxpreiTed by brute-
animals.

lie

Or PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 143

He muft, in my apprelienfion, liave a very ftrange
complexion of unflerftanding, who can I'urvey the
various ways in which the young of the variouii
fpecies are reared, without wonder, without pious
admirati'jn of tliat manifold wildom, which hath fo
flvilfully fitted means to ends, in fuch an infinite va-
riety of ways.

In all the brute-animals we are acquainted with,
the end of the parental affection is completely an-
fwered in a Ihort time ; and then it ceafes as if it
had never been.

The infancy of man is longer and more helplefs
than that of any other animal. The parental affec-
tion is neccffary for many years ; it is highly ufeful
through life ; and therefore it terminates cnly with
life. It extends to children's children without any
diminution of its force.

How common is it to fee a young woman, in the
gaycil period of life, who has fpent her days in mirth,
and her niglits in profound ilcep, without follicitudc
or care, all at once transioimed into the careful,
the folicitous, the watchful nurle of her dear infant :
doing nothing by day but gazing unun it, and ferv-
ing it in the meanelt oflices ; by night, depriving
hcrfclf of found Ueep for months, that it may lie
fafe in her arms. Forgetful of hcrfelf, her whole
care is centered in thi:> little objecT.

Such a fuddcn transformation of her whole habits,
and occupaiioi^, and turn of micd, if we did not
fee it every day, would appear a more wonderful
i:utiiiuorpho/is than any that Ovid has defcribed.

This, however, is the work of nature, and not
the effect of reafon and refleclion. For we fee it in
the good and in the bad, in the moft thoughtlcfs, aj
well as in the thoughtful.

Nature has afligneil different departments to the
father and mother in rearing their offspjing. This
may be feen in many brute-animals ; ai]d that it ii
lo in the human fpecies, was lung ago obferved by

Socrates,

14£ ESSAY III. Chap. IV.

SocRATE?, and mofl beautifully illuftratcd by him,
as we learn front Xenophon's Occonomkhs. The pa-
rental afTeclion in the different fexes is exactly adap-
ted to the oHice afiigncd to each. The father would
make an aukward nurfe to a new-born child, and
the mother too indulgent a guardian. But both act
with propriety and grace in their proper fphere.

It is very remarkable, that when the office of rear-
ing a child is transferred from the parent to another
perfon, nature fecms to transfer the afFeciiion along
with the office. A wet nurfe, or even a dry nurfe,
has commonly the fame aflection for her nurlling,
as if Ihe had borne it. The fact is fo well known
that nothing needs be faid to confirm it ; and it
feems to be the work of nature.

Our aft'eclions are not immediately in our power,
as our outwarci adions are. Nature has directed
them to certain objects. We may do kind offices
without alTeclion ; but we cannot create an affi^dtion
which nature has not given.

Reafon miirht teach a man that his children are
particularly committed to his care by the providence
of God, and, on that account, that he ought to
attend to them as his particular charge ; but reafon
could not teach him to love them more than other
children of equal merit, or to be more afflided for
their misfortunes or mifbehaviour.

It is evident therefore, that that peculiar fenfibility
of atrc(5tion, with regard to his own children, is
not the effecb of reafoning or reileclion, but the
effedl of that conftitution which nature has given
him.

There are fome affedlions which we may call rati-
onal^ becaufe they are grounded upon an opinion of
merit in the object. 1 he parental affedtion is not of
this kind. For though a man's affcdion to his child
may be encreafed by merit, and diminiihed by de-
merit, I think no man will fay, that it took its rife
from an opinion of merit. It is not opinion that

creates

Of particular KENEVOLEXT AFFECTIONS, k^j

creates the atTcclion, but afll-ctlon often creates Opi-
nion. It is apt to pervert ilie jutlgnient, and create
an opinion of merit where there is none.

The ablolutc necellity of this parental affection, in
order to the continuance of tlie human fpccios, is fo
apparent, that there is no need of arguments to prove
it. The rearing of a child from its birth to mati.rity
requires fo much time and care, and fuch infinite
attentions, that, if it were to be done merely from
conliderations of reafon and duty, and were not
fweetened by affeclion in parents, nurfes and guar-
dians,, there is reafon to doubt, whether one child
in ten thoullind would ever be reared.

Befidc the abfolute necellity of this part of the hu-
man conftitution to the prefervation of the fpecies,
its utility is very great, for tempering the giddinefs
and impetuoiity of youth, and improving its know-
ledge by the prudence and experience of age, for
encouraging induilry and frugality in the parents, in
order to provide for their children, for the folace and
iupport of parents under the infirmities of old age ;
n(jt to mention that it probably gave rife to the iird
civil governments.

It does not appear that the parental, and other fa-
mily aliections, are, in general, either too llrong or
too weak for anfvvering their end. If they were too
v/eak, parents would be moft apt to err, on the Tide
or undue feverity ; if too ftrong, of undue indul-
gence. As they are i:^ facf , I believe no man can fay,
that the errors are more general on the one fide than
on the other.

When thefe aflLctions arc exerted accordino: to
their intention, under the direclion ot wildom and
prudence, the economy of fuch a family is a moft de-
lightful fpectacle, and furniflies the moft agreeable
and affecting fubject, to the pencil of the painter, and
to the pen of the orator and poet.

2. The }hxt benevolent affcCiion I mention is G:ra-
titude to benetaclois.

K That

146 ESSAY III. Chap. IV.

That good offices are, by the very conflitution of
our nature, apt to produce good will towards the
benefactor, in good and bad nren, in the favage and
in the civilized, cannot furely be denied by any one,
in the leaft acquainted with human nature.

The danger of perverting a man's judgment by
goc 1 deeds, where he ought to have no bias, is fo
well known, that it is diihonourable in ju(^ges, in
witneffes, in electors to offices of truft, to atcept of
them ; and, in all civilized nations, they are, in fuch
cafes, prohibited, as the means of corruption.

Thofe who would corrupt the fentence of a judge,
the teftimony of a M'itnefs, or the vote of an elector,
know well, that they muft not make a bargain, or
ftipulate w^hat is to be done in return. This would
fhock every man who has the leaft pretenfion to mo-
rals. If the perfon can only be prevailed upon to ac-
cept the good office, as a teftimony of pure and dif-
intereftedfriendfliip, it is left to work upon his gra-
titude. He finds himfclf under a kind of moral
obligation to conlider the caufe of his benefactor
and friend in the moft favourable light. He finds it
ealier to juftify his conduct to him.felf, by favouring*
the intereft of his benefador, than by oppofing it.

Thus the principle of gratitude is luppofed, even
in the nature of a bribe. Bad men know how to
make this natural principle the moft effedual means
of corruption. The very beft things may be turned
to a bad ufe. But the natural tendency of this prin-
ciple, and the intention of nature in planting it in
the human breaft, are, evidently, to promote good-
will among men, and to give to good offices the pow-
er of multiplying their kind, like feed fown in the
earth, which brings a return, with increafe.

Whether there be^ or be not, in the more fagaci-
ous brutes, fom.ething that may be called gratitude,
I will not difpute. We muft allow this important
difference between their gratitude and that of the

human

Oi TARTICULAR BKXEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 147

humankind, that, in the l.ift, tlic mind of the be-
nefiictor is chiefly rcgirded, in the firll, the external
.iclion only. A brute-animal will be as kindly afl'eft-
ed to him who feeds it in order to kill and eat it, as
to him who does it from aiTcclion.

A man may be juftly entitled to our gratitude,
for an office that is ufeful, thou^^h it be, at the fame
time, difagreeable ; and not only for doing, but for
forbearing: what he had a ri;iht to do. Amonsr men.
It IS not every beneficial ofiice that claims our grati-
1 ude, but fuch only as are not due to us in julHce.
A favour alone g^ives a claim to orratitude ; and a
favour mufl be fomething more than juftice requires.
It does not appear that brutes have any conception
ofiuflice. Thev can neither difting-uiili hurt from
uijury, nor a favour from a good ollice that is due.

3. A tbirj natural benevolent atfe6{:ion is pity and
companion towards the diftrefTed.

Of all perfons, thofe in diftrefs ftand moil in need
of our good oflices. And, for that reafon, the Au-
thor of nature hath planted in the bread of every
human creature a powerful advocate to plead their
caufe.

In man, and in fome other animals, there are figns
of diftrefs, which nature hath both taught them to
ufe, and taught all men to underftand without any
interpreter. Thefe natural figns are more eloquent
than language ; they move our hearts, and produce
a fympathy, and a defire to give relief.

There are few hearts fo hard, but great diftrefs will
conquer their anger, their indignation, and every
malevolent affeclion.

We fympa<thifc even with the traitor and with the
afifaflin, when we fje him led to execution. It is on-
ly felf-prefervation, and the public good, that makes
us reluctantly allcnt to his being cut off from among
men.

The pr.iclice of the Canadian nations toward tlieir
prii'oncrs would tempt one to think, that they have

K^ 2 been

148 ESSAY III. Chap. IV.

been able to root out tlie principle of compaiTion
from their nature, liut this, I apprehend, would be
a ra(h conclufion. It is only a part of the priioners
of war that they devote to a cruel death. This gra-
tifies the revenge of the women and children M'ho
have loft their hufbands and fathers in the war.
The other prifoners are kindly ufed, and adopted as
brethren.

Compafiion with bodily pain is no doubt weaken-
ed among thefe favages, becaufe they are trained
from their infancy to be fuperior to death, and to e-
very degree of pain ; and he is thought unworthy of
the name of a man, who cannot defy his tormentors,
and fmo: his death-fons: in the midft of the moft cru-
el tortures. He who can do this, is honoured as a
brave man, though an enemy. ]5ut he muft perifli
in the experiment.

A Canadian has the moft perfect contempt for
every man who thinks pain an intolerable evil. And
nothing is fo apt to ftifie compafiion as contempt, and
;\n apprehcnfion, that the evilfufTered is nothing but
\\ hat ought to be manfully borne.

It mull alfo be obfervxd, that favages fet no bounds
totheir revenge. Tliofe who find no protedioninlaws
and government never think themfelves fafe, but in
the deftruclion of their enemy. And one of the chief
advantages of civil government is, that it tempers
the cruel pallion of revenge, and opens the heart to
companion with every human woe.

It feems to be falfe religion only, that is able to
check the tear of compafiion. >

We are told, that, in Portugal and Spain, a man^
condemned to be burned as an obftinate heretick,
meets with no compafiion, even from the multitude.
It is true, they are taught to look upon him as an
enemy to God, and doomed to hell-fire. But lliould
not this very circumftance move compafiion ? Surely
it would, if they were not taught, that, in this cafe,
it is a crime to iiicw compafiion, or even to feel it.

4. Afourtb

Of particular BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 149

4.. A fourth benevolent a{re<ftion is, cflcem of the
wife and the crood.

The worft men cannot avoid feelinp^ this in I'omc
degree. Eftceni, veneration, devotion, are diiFc-
rent degrees of tlie fame affeclion. The perfection
of wifdom, power and goodnefs, which bcloni^s on-
ly to the Almighty, is the obje>5b of the laft.

It may be a doubt, whether this principle of cf-
teem, as well as that of gratitude, ought to be ranked
in the order of animal principles, or if they ought
not rather to be placed in a higher order. I'hey are
certainly more allied to the rational nature than the
others that have been named ; nor is it evident, that
there is any thing in brute-animals that defer vei the
fame name.

There is indeed a fubordination in a herd of cat-
tle, and in a flock of fheep, which, I believe is de-
termined bv llrcnirth and coura^^e, as it is among:
fivage tribes of men. I have been informed, that,
in a pack of hounds, a (launch hound acquires a de-
gree of cftceem in the pack ; fo that, when the dogs
are wandering in queft of the fcent, if he opens, the
pack immediately clofes in with him, when they
would not regard the opening of a dog of no repu-
tation. This is fomething like a refpect to wifdom.

liUt I have placed edecm of the wife and good in
the order of animal principles, not from any pcrfua-
finn that it is to be found in brute-animals, but be-
caufe, I think, it appears in tlie mofl: unimproved
and in the moll degenerate part of our fpecies, even
in ihofe in whom we h irdly perceive any exertion,
eitiKT of rcafon or virtue.

1 v.ill not, however, difputc with any man who
thinks that it delcrs'es a mere honourable name than
that of an animal principle. It is of fmall impor-
tance what name we give it, if we are fatisfied that
there is luch a principle in the human conftitULion.

^. Fricndlliip i:, another benevolent affecrlon.

150 ESSAY in. Chap. IV,

Of this we have fome inftanccs famous in hlftory :
Few indeed ; but fufficicnt to fliew, that human na-
ture is fufceptible of that extraordinary attachment,
fympathy and affection, to one or a fc.v pcrfons,
which the ancients thought alone worl-hy of the name
of friendfhip.

The Epicureans found it very difficult to reconcile
the exiftence of friendfhip to the principles of their
feci. They were not fo bold as to deny its cxiftencc.
They even boafted that there had been more attach-
ments of that kind between Epicureans than in any
other refpecl. But the difficulty was, to account
{6r real friendfhip upon Epicurean principles. They
went into different hypothefes upon this point, three
of which are explained by Torqiiatus the Epicurean,
in Cicero's book, De Finibus,

Cicero in his reply to Torcvtjatus, examine* all
the three, and fliews them all to be either inconfif-
rent with the nature of true friendftiip, or incon-
liftent with the fundamental principles of the Epi-
curean feci.

As to the friendfhip which the Epicureans boafted
of amona: thofe of their feet, Cicero does not auef-
tion the fa6l, but obferves, that, as there are many
whofc practice is worfe than their principles, fo there
are fome whofe principles are worfe than their prac-
tice, and that the bad principles of thefe Epicureans
were overcome by the goodnefs of their nature.

6. Among the benevolent affections, the paflion of
love between the fexes cannot be overlooked.

Although it is commonly the theme of Poets, it is
not unworthy of the pen of the Philofopher, as it is
a moil important part of the human conilitution.

It is no doubt made up of various ingredients, as
many other principles of action arc, but it certainly
cannot exifl without a very flrong benevolent affec-
tion toward its object ; in whom it finds, or con-
ceives, every thing that is amiable and.cxcellent, and
even fomething more than human. I confider it

here,

Oi- PARTICULAR BLNEVOLENr AFri-CTIONS. 151

here, only as a benevolent afFeclion naturr.I to man.
And that it is i'o, no man can doubt, whoever felt its
force.

It is evidently intended by nature to direcl: a man
in the choice ot a mate, with whom he defires to live,
and to rear an oflspring.

It has efledually lecured this end in all ages, and
in every ftare of" ibciety.

Ihe palfion of love, and the parental affeclionV
are counterparts to each other ; and when they are'
conduced with prudence, and meet M^ith a proper
return, are the fource of all domeiHc felicity, the
greateft, next to that of a good confcicnce, which
this world alTords.

As, in theprefcnt flate of things, pain often dwells
near to pleafure, and forrow to joy, it need not be
thought ftrange, that a paHion, fitted and intended
by nature to yield the greateft worldly felicitv,
fhould, by beiiig ill regulated, or wrong directed,
prove the occafion of the molt pungent diftrefs.

But its joys and its griefs, its difi'crent modifica-
tions in the diiferent faxes, and its influence upon
tiie character of both, though very important fub-
jccts, are fitter to be fung than f.iid ; and I leave them
to thofc who ha\e flept upon the two-topped Par-
n alius.

7. The A//? benevolent alTeclion I fhall mention is,
wiiat we commonly call />i<b/ic fpirit, that is, an af-
fedion to any community to which we belong.

If there be any ivian quite dcflilute of this aifcction,
he muft be as great a monftcr as a man born w\t\\
two heads. Its eife^ls are manifeft in the whole of
human life, and in the hiftory of all nations.

The fituation of a great part of mankind, indeed,
is fuch, that their thoughts and views muft be con-
fined within a very narrow fphere, and be very much
cn.;rol]l'd by their private concerns. With regard
to an cxtenfive public, fuch as a ftatc or nation, they

are

152 ESSAY III. Chap. IV.

arc like a drop to the ocean, fo that they have rarely
an opportunity of aclinjv with a view to it.

In many, whofe actions may affecl the public,
and whofe rank and ftation lead them to think of it,
private paflions may be an overmatch for public fpi-
rit. All that can be inferred from, this is, that their
public fpirit is weak, not that it does not exift.

If a man wiflies well to the public, and is ready to
do good to it rather than hurt, when it cofts him
nothing, he has fom.e affection to it, though it may
be fcandaloully weak in degree.

I believe every man has it in one degree or ano-
ther. What man is there who does not refent faty-
rical reflections upon his country, or upon any com-
munity of which he is a member ?

Whether the afl'eclion be to a college or to a cloif-
ter, to a clan or to a profeilion, to a party or to a
nation, it is public fpirit. Tliefe affections differ,
not in kind, but in the extent of their objecl.

The objecl extends as our connections extend ;
and a fenfe of the connection carries the affection
along with it to every community to which we can
apply the pronouns ivc and our.

Friend, parent, neighbour, firft it will embrace,
His country next, and then all human race.

Pope,

Even in the mifanthrope, thir; affc<tion is not cx-
tinguilhed. It is overpowered by the apprehenfion
he has of the worthlcffnefs, tlie bafenels, and the
ingratitude of mankind. Ck)nvince him,, that there
is any amiable quality in the fpccies, and immedi-
ately his philanthropy revives, and rejoices to hnd
an objcitt on which it can exert itfclf.

Public fpirit has this in common witli every fub-
ordinate principle of action, that, M'hen it is not
under the government of rcafon and virtue, it may
produce much evil as well as good. Yet, where

there

O.-: PARTICULAH BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 153

tlicrc is lead of rcafoii and virtue, to regulate it, its
good far overbalances its ill.

It fomctimes kindles or inflames animofities be-
tween communities, or contcndinir parlies, and
makes them treat each otlicr with little rei]:;ard to
juitice. It kindles wars between nations, and makes
them dcftroy one another for trifling caufcs. But,
without it, fociety could not fubfill:, and every com-
munity would be a rope of fand.

Wlien under the direction of reafon and virtue,
it is the very image of God in the foul. It difl'ufes
its benign influence as far as its power extends, and
participates in the happlnefs of God, and of the
whole creation.

Thefe are the benevolent aflections which appear
to me to be parts of the human conftitution.

If any one thinks the enumeration incomplete,
pnd that there are natural benev^olent afl"ecHi(.>ns,
which arc not included under any of tliofe that
liave been named, I fhall very readily liften to fucli
a correction, beino: fenfible that fuch enumerations
are very often incomplete.

If others fliould tliink that any, or all, the aflcc-
tions I have named, arc acquired by education, or ',
by habits and aflbciations grounded on fclf-lovc, and
are not original parts of our conftitution ; this is a
point upon which, indeed, there has been much
lubtile difputation in ancient and modern times, and
which, 1 believe, mufl: be determined from what a
man, by careful reflection, may feel in himfelf, ra-
ther tlian from what he obferves in others. Rut I
decline entering ii^.to this difpute, till I fliall have
explained that principle of action which we com-
monly QxWfclf-lovc.

1 Ihall conclude this fu]:)jcc'i: with fome reflections
upon the benevolent afl'eciions.

')i\\fz jirji is. That all of them, in as ixx as tlicy
are benevolent, in which view only 1 conlidor them,
agree very nmch in the conduct they difpofe us to,
with reg;'.rd to their objecls.

Thev

^54

ESSAY in. Chap. IV.

They dilpofe us to do them ,s;ood as far we have
power and opportunity ; to wifli them well, when
we can do them no good ; to judge favourably, and
often partially, of them ; to fympathife with them
in their afflictions and calamities ; and to rejoice with
them in their happinefs and good fortune.

It is impoflible that there can be benevolent affecli-
on without fympathy, both with the good and bad
fortune of the object ; and it appears to be impoflible
that there can be fympathy without benevolent aiTec-
tion. Men do not fympathife with one whom they
hate ; nor even with one to whofe good or ill they
are perfectly indifferent.

We may fympathife with a perfect ft ranger, or
even with an enemy whom we fee in diftrels ; but
this is the effe6l of pity ; and if we did not pity him,
we fhould not fympathife with him.

I take notice of this the rather, becaufe a very in-
genious author in his Theory of Moral Sentiments, gives
a very different account of the origin of fympathy.
It appears to me to be the cffeA of benevolent affec-
tion, and to be infeparable from it.

A fecond refledion is, That the conftitution of our
nature very powerfully invites us to cheriih and cul-
tivate in our minds the benevolent affections.

The agreeable feeling which always attends them
as a prefent reward, appears to be intended by na-
ture for this purpofe.

Benevolence, from its nature, compofes the mind,
warms the heart, enlivens the whole frame, and
brip-htens every feature of the countenance. It may
juftly be faidto be medicinal both to foul and body.
We are bound to it by duty ; we are invited to it by
intcreft ; and becaufe both ihcfe cords are often fee-
ble, we have natural kind affections to aid them in
their operations, and fu})ply their def:;as ; and theie
affections are joined with a manly pieafure in their

c-\ertioa.

A third

Oi PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 155

A ihinl rcflccTIon is, That the r.?itur:il benevolent
afiections furnilli tlie niort irrtlllliblc proof, that the
Auth.or of our nature intended that wc fhould live
in focicty, and do i^ood to our fcllov-men as \vc liave
opportunity ; fiiice this great and in"'.portant part of
the human conllitution has a manifeit relation to fo-
ciety, and ci^n have no excrcife nor ufe in a folitary
ftate.

The lajl refleclion is, That the different principles
of action have difl'erent degrees of dignity, and rife
one above another in our ellimation, when we make
them obje(fis of contemplation.

We afcribe no dignity to inftinifis or to habits.
They lead us only to admire the wifdom of the Cre-
ator, in adapting them fo perfefily to the manner of
life of the different animals in which they ?.re found.
Much the fame may be fiiid of appetites. They ferve
rather for ufe than ornament.

The defircs of kno\vledge, of power, and of eltecm,
rife higher in our eftimation, and we confidcr them
as giving dignity and ornament to man. The actions
proceeding from them, though not properly virtu-
ous, are manly and rcfpcclable, and claim a juft fu-
periority over thofe that proceed merely from appc-
lirc. This I think is the uniform judgment of man-
kind.

\i v*-c apply the fame kind of judgment to our be-
nevolent affeiitions, tliey appear not only manly and
rcfpedablc, but amiable in a high degree.

They arc amiab/lc even in brute-animals. We love
the meekncls oF ilie lamb, the gentlencfs of the dove,
the affection of a dog to his mafter. We cannot,
without pleafure, obferve the timid ewe, who never
fhewcd the Icrul degree of courage in lier ovrn defence,
become valiant and intrepid in defence of her lamb,
and boldly affault thofe enemies, the very fight of
whom was w'ont to put licr to flight.

How plcafant is it to fee the family economy of
a pair of little birds in rearing their tender offspring ;

tlie

15^ E S S A Y III. Chap. IV.

the conjuGjal afTeclIon and fideiity of the parents \
their clicertul toil and inJullry in providing food to
their family ; their fiigacity in concealing their ha-
bitation ; the arts they ufc, often at the peril of
their own lives, to decoy hawks, and other enemies,
from their dwelling-place, and the aiHicllon they
feel when fome unlucky boy has robbed them of the
dear pledges of their affecliion, and fruftrated all
their hopes of their rifing family r

If kind aiTeclion be amiable in brutes, it is not
lefs fo in our own fpecies. Even the external figns
of it have a powerful charm.

Every one knovv's tnat a perfon of accompliCied
good breeding, charms every one he converles with.
And what is this ji^ood breedinix ? If we analvzc it,
we fhall fmd it to be made up of looks, geilures and
fpeeches, which are the natural ligns of benevolence
and (rood alTeclion. He who has Q:ot the habit of
ufing thefc ligns with propriety, and without mean-
nefs, is a well-bred and polite man.

What is that beauty in the features of tlie face,
particularly of the fair fex, which all men love and
admire ? I believe it conhlis chiefly in the features
which indicate good afTections. Every indication of
mceknef^, gentlenefs, and benignity, is a beauty.
On the contrary, every feature that indicates pride,
padion, envy, and malignity,, is a deformity.

Kind aiTections, therefore, are amiable in brutes.
Even the figns and (hadows of them are highly at-
tractive in our own fpccics. Indeed they are the
jov and the comfort of human life, not to good men
only, but even to the vicious and diilolute.

Witiiout fociety, and the intcrcourfe of kind af-
leclion, man is a gloomy, melancholy and joylefs
being. His mind onprclVcd with cares and fears, he
cannot enjoy the balm of found ilcep : in conftajit
dread of impending danger, he ftarts at the ruilling
of a leaf, liis ear^ are continually upon the llrctcli,

and

Of PARTICULA R BENEVOLENT AFFILCTIONS. 1 5 7

and every zcpliyr brings Ibmc found that alarms
him.

When he enters into focicty, and feels fecurity in
the good afTcction of friends and neighbours, it is
tlien only that his fear vaniflies, and his mind is at
eafe. Mis courage is ralied, his underftanding is en-
lightened, and his heart diUtes with joy.

Human fociety may be compared to a heap of em-
bers, which when placed afunder, can retain neither
their light nor heat, amidft the furrounding ele-
ments ; but when brought together they mutually
give heat and light to each other ; the llame breaks
forth, and not only defends itfelf, but fubdues evta--
ry thing around it.

The fecurity, the happlnefs, and the ftrcngth of
human Ibciety, fpring Iblely from the reciprocal be-
nevolent allcctions of its members.

The benevolent afi'ections, though they be all ho-
nourable and lovely, are not all equally fo. There
is a fubordination among them ; and the honour we
pay to them generally corrcfponds 10 the extent of
their object.

The good huiband, the good father, the good
friend, the good neighbour, we honour as a p-ood
man, worthy of our love and aii'et^iion. But the
man in whom ihcl'e more private afTeclions are fwal-
lowed up in zeal for the good of his country, and
of mankind, who goes about doing good, and fceks
opportunities of being ufci ul to his fpecies, wc re-
vere as more than a good man, aj a hero, as a good

anG:el.

C H A P.

158 ESSAY III. Chap. V.

C II A P. V.

Of Malevolent AJecl'wn.

Are there, in the conftitution of man, any af-
fedions that may be called tnalevolent? What arc
they .? And what is their ufe and end ?

■^ To mc there fcem to be two, which we may call
by that name. They are emulation and rcfentment.
Thefe I take to be parts of the human conftitution,
given us by our Maker for good ends, and, when
properly directed and regulated, of excellent ufe.
But, as their excefs or abufe, to which human na-
ture is very prone, is the fource and fpring of all the
malevolence that is to be found among men, it is
on that account I call them malevolent.

If any man thinks that they deferve a fofter name,
iince they may be exercifed according to the inten-
tion of nature, without malevolence, to this I have
no objection.

By emulation, I mean, a defire of fuperiority to
our rivals in any puriuit, accompanied with an un-
cafmefs at being furpalTed.

Human life has juftly been compared to a race.
The prize is fuperiority in one kind or another.
But the fpecies or forms (if I may ufe the exprellion)
of fuperiority among men are infinitely diverfilied.

Tlicre is no man fo contemptible in his own eyes,
as to hinder him from entering the lifts in one form
or another ; and he will always find competitors to
rival him in his own way.

We fee emulation among brute-animals. Dogs
and horfcs contend each with liis kind in the race.
Many animals of the gregarious kind contend for

fuperiority

OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 159

fuperiority in their flock or herd, andflicw mimifeft
figns of jealoufy when others pretend to rival them.

The emulation ot the brute-animals is moftly con-
fined to fwiftncfs, or ftrength, or favour with their
females. But the emulation of the human kind has
a much wider field.

In every profeflion, and in every accomplidiment
of body or mind, real or imaginary, there are rival-
fnips. Literary men rival one another in literary
abilities. Artifts in their feveral arts. The fair fex
in their beauty and attractions, and in the rcfpecl
paid them by the other fex.

In every political fociety, from a petty corporatf-
on up to the national adminiftration, there is a ri-
valfliip for power and influence.

Men have a natural defire of power without re-
fpecl to the power of others. This we call ambiiio7t.
But the defire of fuperiority, either in power, or ia
any thing we think worthy of eftimation, has a re-
fpecl to rivals, and is what we properly call emidation.

The fl:ronger the defire is, the more pungent will
be the uneafinefs of being found behind, and the
mind will be the more hurt by this humiliating view.

Emulation has a manifcft tendency to improve-
ment. Without it life would ftagnate, and the dif-
coveries of art and genius would be at a fland. This
principle produces a conftant ferm.entation in fociety,
by which, tliough dregs may be produced, the bet-
ter part is purified and exalted to a perfection, which
it could not otherwife attain.

We have not fuflicient dala for a comparifon of
the good and bad eflc(5ts which this principle aftually
produces in ibciety ; but there is ground to think
of this, as of other natural principles, that the good
overbalances the ill. As far as it is under the domi-
nion of reafon aru.1 virtue, its effecls are always
good ; when left to be guided by paflion and folly,
they arc often very bad.

Reufon

i6o ESSAY III. Chap. V.

Reafon clirecls us to ftrive for fuperiority, only in
things that have real excellence, otherwifb we fpend
our labour for that which profiteth not. To value
ourlelves lor fupcriority in things that have no real
worth, or none compared with what they coft, is to
be vain of our own folly ; and to be uneafy at the
fupcriority of others in fuch things, is no lefs ridi-
culous.

Reafon directs us to firive for fupcriority only In
thiugs in our power, and attainable by our exertion,
otherwife we fhall be like the frog in the fable, who
fwelled hcrfelf till flie burft, in order to equal the
ox in magnitude.

To check all defire of things not attainable, and
every uneafy thought in the want of them, is an
obvious dicl'ate of prudence, as well as of virtue and
religion.

If emulation be regulated by fuch maxims of rea-
fon, and all undue partiality to ourfelves be laid
afide, it will be a powerful principle of our improve-
ment, without hurt to any other perfon. It v/ill
give ftrength to the nerves, and vigour to the mind,
in every noble and manly purfuit.

But difmal are its eflccts, when it is not under the
direction of reafon and virtue. It has often the moll
mahgnant influence on mens opinions, on their af-
fections, and on their actions.

It is an old obfervation, that affection follows opi-
nion ; and it is undoubtedly true in many cafes. A
man caniiot be grateful without the opinion of a
favour done him. He cannot have deliberate re-
Icntment without the opinion of an injury; nor ef-
lecm without the opinion of fome eilimable quali-
ty ; nor comoaffion vvithout tlie opinion of luffer-
ing.

iiut it is no lefs true, that opinion fometimes fol-
lows affedion, not that it ought, but that it actual-
ly does fo, by giving a falfe Lias to our judgment.
We are apt to be partial to our friciid:J; and il'iA

more to ourfelves.

Hence

OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 161

Hence the dcfirc of fuperiority leads men to put
an undue cftimation upon thole things wherein they
excel, or think they excel. And, by this means,
pride may tccd iiiclt" upon the very dregs of human
nature.

The lame defire of fuperiority may lead men to
undervalue ihofe things wherein they either defpair
of excelling, or care not to make the exertion ne-
ceflary for that end. The grapes are four, faid the
fox, when he law them beyond liis reach. The
lame principle leads men to detract from the merit of
others, and to impute their brightell actions to mean
or bad motives.

He who runs a race feels uneafinefs at feeing^ an-
other outftrip him. This is uncorruptcd nature,
and the work of God within him. But this uneali-
nefs may produce either of two very different efl'ects.
It may incite him to make more vigorous exertions,
and to ftrain every nerve to get before his rival.
T'his is fair and honeft emulation. This is the effect
it is intended to produce. But if he has net fair-
ncfs and candour of heart, he will look with an evil
eye upon his competitor, and will endeavour to
trip him, or to throw a llumbling-block in his way.
This is pure envy, the molt malignant pallion that
can lodge in the human breaft ; which devours, as
ics natural food, the fame and the happinefs of thofe
who are moft deferving of our efteem.

If there be, in fome men, a pronenefs to detra6t
from the chara6ter, evx'n of perlons unknown or in-
different, in others an avidity to hear and to propa-
gate fcandal, to what principle in human nature muft
we afcribe thcfe qualities r T'hc failings of others
furely add nothing to our worth, nor arc they, in
thcmfelves, a plcafant fubject of thought or of dil-
courfe. But they flatter pride, by giving an opini-
on of our fuperiority to thofe from whom wc de-
tract:.

L Is

1 62 ESSAY III. Chap.V.

Is it not poflible, thit the fame ciefire of fuperio-
rity may have fome fecret influence upon thofe who
love to difplay their eloquence in declaiming upon
the corruption of human nature, and the wicked-
nefs, fraud and infincerity of mankind in general ?
It ought always to be taken for granted, that the
declaimxr is an exception to the general rule, other-
v/ife he would rather chufe, even for his own fake,
to draw a veil over the nakednefs of his fpecics.
But, hoping that his audience will be fo civil as not
to include him in the black dcfcription, he rifes fu-
perior by the depreflion of the fpecies, and ftands
alone, like Noah in the antediluvian world. This
looks like envy againft the human race.

It would be endlefs, and no ways agreeable, to
enumerate all the evils and all the vices, which paf-
lion and folly beget upon emulation. Here, as in
moft cafes, the corruption of the bell things is the
word. In brute-animals, emulation has little mat-
ter to work upon, and its effects, good or bad, are
few. It may produce battles of cocks and battles of
bulls, and little elfe that is obfervable. But in man-
kind, it has an infinity of matter to work upon,
and its good or bad effects, according as it is well or
ill regulated and directed, multiply in proportion.

The conclufion to be drawn from what has been
faid upon this principle is. That emulation, as far
as it is a part of our conftitution, is highly ufeful
and important in fociety ; that in the wife and good,
it produces the beft efledls without any harm ; but
in the fooliili and vicious, it is the parent of a great
part of the evils of life, and of the mod malignant
vices that itain human nature.

We arc next to conlider refentment.

Nature dilpofes us, when we are hurt, to refift
and retaliate. Bclides the bodily pani occafioncd by
the hurt, the m.ind is ruffled, and a defire raifed to
retaliate upon the author of the hurt or injury^
This, in general, is what we call aii^er or rcfenl-
mef:t.

A very

OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 163

A very important diftiniftion is made by Bifhop
B'JTLKR between fiiddcn refcntmcnt, which is a blind
impulic ariling from our conllitution, and that which
is deliberate. The firii may be railed by hurt ot any
kind ; but the lall can only be raifcd by injury real
or conceived.

The flime diftinclion is made by Lord Kames in
his E/emtfiti of Crliicifm. What Butler calls fudden^
he calls injlinclive.

We have not, in common language, difTerent
names for thefe ditlerent kinds of refentment ; but
tlie dilii notion is very necelTary, in order to our hav-
ing juft notions of this part of the human conftitu-
tion. It correfponds perfedly with the diftindion I
have made between the animal and rational princi-
ples of action. For this fudden or inilinciive refent-
ment,is an animal principle common to us with brute-
animals. But tliat refentment w^hich the authors
1 have named call deliberate, mufl fall under the clafs
of rational principles.

It is to be obferved, however, that, by referring
it to that clafs, 1 do not mean, that it is always kept
within the bounds that reafon prefcribes, but only
that it is proper to man as a reafonable being, capa-
ble, by his rational faculties, of dillinguifhing be-
tween hurt and injury ; a diftinclion which no brute-
animal can make.

Both ihefe kinds of refentment are raifed, whether
the hurt or injury be done to ourfelves, or to thofe
we are intercflcd in.

Wherever there is any benevolent affection to-
wards others, we refent their wrongs, in proportion
to the ftrcngth of our affecfion. Pity and fympathy
with the futierer, produce refentment againit the
author of the fuffering, as naturally as concern for
ourfelves produces refentment of our own wrongs.

I ih ill liril coniider that refentment whicii I call
aninuil, whicli Butler cdXhfudde?!, and Lord KaxMls
injiinciivc,

L 2 In

1(54 ESSAY 111. Chap. V.

In every r.nimal to which nature hath given tlie
power of hurting its enemy, we lee an endeavour
to retaliate the ill that is done to it. Even a moufe
will bite when it cannot run away.

Perhaps there may be forne animals to whom na-
ture hath p;iven no ofTenfive weapon. To fuch, an-
ger and refentment would be of no ufc ; and I be-
lieve we fliall fmd, that they never fliew any fign of
it. But there are few of this kind.

Some of the more fagacious animals can be pro-
voked to fierce anger, and retain it long. Many of
them fliew great animofity in defending their young,
who hardly fliev/ any in defending thcmfeives.
Others refill every alTauIt made upon the flock or
herd to which thev beions:. Bees defend their hive,
wild beafts their den, and birds their neft.

This iudden refentment operates in a limilar man-
ner in men and in brutes, and appears to be given by
nature to both for the lame end, namely, for de-
fence, even in cafes v/herc there is no time for deli-
beration. It may be compared to that natural in-
ftinct, by which a man, who has loft his balance and
begins to fall, makci^ a fudden and violent effort to
recover himfelf, without any intention or deli-
beration.

In fach efforts, men often exert a degree of muf-
cular ftrength beyond what they are able to exert
by a calm determination of the will, and thereby
fave them.felves from many a dangerous fall.

By a like violent and fudden impulfe, nature
prompts us to repel hurt, upon the caufe of it, whe-
ther it be man or beaft. The inflincl before menti-
oned is folely dcfenlive, and is prompted by fear.
This fudden refentment is offenfive, and is pron-ipted
by anger, but with a view to defence.

Man, in his prcfent ftate, is furroundcd with fo
many dangers from his own fpccies, from brute-
animals, from every thing around him., that lie has
need of lomc defeniivc armour that fliall always be

ready

OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 165

ready in the moiTicnt of chmj^cr. Ills rcafon is of
great ufc for tliis purpofc, wJicn there is time to ap-
ply it. But, in many cafes, the mifchief would be
done before reafcn could think of tlic means of pre-
venting it.

The wifdom of nature hath provided two means
to fupply this dcfecT:of our rcafon. One of thefe is
the initiiicl before mentioned, by which th3 body,
upon the appearance of danger, is inftantly, and
without thought or intention, put in that pofture
which improper for preventing the danger, or leifen-
ing it. Thus, we wink hard when our eyes are
threatened ; we bend the body to avoid a llroke ;
we make a fudden effort to recover our balance,
when in danger of falling. By fuch means M'e arc
guarded from many dangers v/hich our rcafon would
come too late to prevent.

But as oiTonfive arms arc often the furefl means
of defence, by deterring the enemy from an afiault,
nature hath alfo provlclcd man, and other animals,
with this kind of defence, by that fudden refentmcnt
of which v/e nov/ fpeak, which outruns the quickeft
determinations of rcafon, and takes fire in an in-,
ftant, tJireatening the enemy with retaliation.

The firft of thefe principles operates upon the de-
fender only ; but tills operates both upon the defen-f
dcr and the alTailant, infpiring the former with cou-
rage and animoiity, and ilriking terror into the latter.
It proclaims to all aiiaiiants, what our ancient Scot-
tiili kings did upon their coins, by the emblem of a
tliiftie, v/ith thii motto, Nemo mcimpunciaccjfct. By
this, in innumerable cafes, men and beafts are de-
terred from doing hurt, and others thereby fccurcd
from fuficring it.

\S\x\. as refentment fuppofe^ an objecT: on whom wc
may retaliate, hou- comes it to pais, that in brutes
very often, and fometimes in our ov.-n fpecies, w#
fee it wreaked upon inanimate things, which are in-
capable of fullering by it ?

Perhaps

i66 ESSAY III. CuA^. V.

Perhaps it might be a fuflicicnt anTwcr to this quef-
tion. That nature acts by general laws, which, in
fome particular cafes, may go beyond, or fall fhort
ot" their intention, though they be ever fo well
adapted to it in general.

But I confefs it feems to me impoffible, that there
fliould be refentment againft a thing, which at that
very moment is conlidered as inanimate, and con
fequenily incapable either of intending hurt, or of
being punifhed. Forw^hat can be more abfurd, than
to be angry with the knife for cutting me, or with
the weight for falling upon my toes ? Hicre muft
therefore, I conceive, be fom.e momentary notion
or conception that the object of our refer.tmert is
capable of punifhmcnt ; and if it be natural, before
reflection, to be angry with things inanimate, it
feems to be a neceifary confcquence, that it is natu-
ral to think that they have life and feeling.

Several phasnomcna in human nature lead us to
ccnjeclure tliat, in the earlieft period of life, \vc are
apt to think every object about us to be anim.ated.
Judging of them by ourfclves, vie afcribe to them
the feelings we are confcious of in ourfelves. So
v/e fee a little girl judges of her doll and of her
play-things. And fo we fee rude nations judge of
the heavenly bodies, of the elements, and of the
fea, rivers, and fountains.

If this be fo, it ought not to be faid, that by rca-
ibn and experience, we learn to afcribe life and in-
telligence to thingis which wc before confidercd as
inanimate. It ought rather to be faid. That by rea-
fon and experience we learn that certain things are
inanimate, to which at lirft we afcribed life and
intelligence.

If this be true, it is lefs furprifing that, before re-
flection, we fhould for a moment relapfc into this
prejudice of our early years, and treat things as
if they had life, which we once believed to have
it.

OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 167

It docs not much afTccT: our prcfcnt argument,
whether this be, or be not the caui'e, wliy a dog pur-
lues and gnaiiics at theftone that hurt him ; and why
a man in a pafilon, for lofing at play, fometimes
wreaks his vengeance on the cards or dice.

It is not ftrangc that a blind animal impulfe (hould
fometimes lofe its proper direclion. In brutes this
has no bad confequence ; in men the Icaft r;iy of re-
flection corrcds it, and Ihews its abfurdity.

It is fufficicntly evident, upon the whole, that this
fudden, or animal refcntmcnt, is intended by nature
for our defence. It prevents mifchief by the fear of
punifliment. It is a kind of penal ftatute, promul-
gated by nature, the execution of which is committed
to the fuficrer.

It may be expected indeed, that one who judges
in his own caufe, will be difpofed to feek more than
an cc{uitable rcdrefs. But this difpofition is checked
by the refentment of the other party.

Yet, in the ftate of nature, injuries once begun,
will often be reciprocated between the parties, until
mortal enmity is produced, and each party thinks
Iiimfelf fafe only in the deftruction of his enemy.

The right of redrefling and punifliing our own
wrongs, fo apt to be abuled, is one of thofe natural
rights, which, in political fociety, is given up to the
laws, and to the civil magiftrate ; and this indeed is
one of the capital advantages we reap from the po-
litical union, that the evils arifing from ungoverncd
refentment are in a great degree prevented.

Although deliberate refentment docs not properly
belong to the clafs of animal principles ; yet, as both
ha\ e the fame name, and are diftinguilhed only by
i*iiilofophers, and as in real life ihey are commonly
intermixed, I Ihall here make fome remarks upon
it.

A fmall degree of reafon and refleclion teaches .a
man that injury only, and not mere hurt, is a jull:
objcit of refentment to a rational creature. A man

ma}

168 E S S A Y TIT. Chap. V.

may fuffer c^rievoufly by the hnnd of another, not
only without injury, but \vith the moil friendly in-
tention ; as in the cafe of a painful chirurgical ope-
ration. Every man of common fenfe fees, that to
refent fuch fu&ring, is not the part of a man, but
of a brute.

Mr. LocKR mentions a gentleman who, having
been cured of madnefs by a very harfh and oflenlive
operation, with great fenfe of gratitude, owned the
cure as the greateft oblig.ition he could have receiv-
ed, but could never bear the fight of the operator,
becaufe it brought back the idea of that agony which
he had endured from his hands.

In this cafe w^e fee diftinclly the operation both of
the animal, and of the rational principle. The firlt
produced an averfion to the operator, which reafon
was not able to overcome ; and probably in a weak
mind, might have produced lafting refentment and
hatred. But, in this gentleman, reafon fo far pre-
vailed, as to make him fenfible that gratitude, and
not refentment, was due.

Suffering may give a bias to the judgment, and
make us apprehend injury where no injury is done.
But, 1 think, without an apprehenfion of injury,
there can be no deliberate reientment.

Hence, among enlightened nations, hoftilc armies
fight without anger or refentment. The vanquifhed
are not treated as offenders, but as brave men who
have fought for their country unfuccefsfully, and
who are entitled to every office of humanity con-
fiftent with the fafety of the conquerors.

If we analyze that deliberate refentment which is
proper to rational creatures, we fliall find that though
it agrees with that which is merely animal in fome
refpecis, it differs in others. Both are accompanied
with an uneafy fenfation, which diRurbs the peace
of the mind. Both prompt us to feek redrefs of our
fufferings, and fecurity frt)m harm. But, in deli-
berate refentment, there muft be an opinion of in-

OF MALEVOLENT A FT EOT I ON. 169

j'lry done or intended. And an opinion of injury
implies an idea oF jufticc, and confequcntly a moral
taciilty.

The very notion of injury is, that it is lef'. than
we may juilly cl.iim ; as, on the contrary, tlic notion
ot a favour is, that it is more than wc can juflly
claim. "Wlicnce it is evident, that juflice is the
Uandard, by which both a favour, and an injury,
are to be weighed and eftimated. Their very nature
:ind definition confifl in their excecdinpj or falling
lliort of this ftandard. No man therefore, can have
the idea either of a favour or of an injury, who has
not the idea of juftice.

That very idea of juftice wiilch enters into cool
and deliberate refentment, tends to reftrain its ex-
cefles. For as there is in juftice in doing an injury,
fo there is injuftice in punilhing it beyond mea-
fure.

To a man of candour and reflection, confciouf-
nefs of the frailty of human nature, and that he has
often ftood in need of forgivenefs himfelf, the plea-
furc of renewing good underftanding, after it has
been interrupted, the inward approbation of a gene-
rous and forgiving difpofttion, and even the irkfomc-
nefs and uneafinefs of a mind ruflled by refentment,
plead ftrongly againft its excelles.

Upon the whole, when we confider. That, on the
one hand, every benevolent aftedion is pleafant in
its nature, is health to the foul, and a cordial to the
ipirits ; That nature has made even the outward ex-
preflion of benevolent affections in the countenance,
pleafant to every beholder, and the chief ingredient
of beauty in the human face divitic ; That, on the
other hand, every malevolent affection, not only in
its faulty exceffes, but in its moderate degrees, is
vexation and difquiet to the mind, and even gives
deformity to tlie countenance, it i^ evident that, by
thelb fignals, nature loudly admor.ithcs us to ufe the
funiicr a; our daily bread, both for health and pica-

lure,

I70 ESSAY III. Chap. VL

fure, but to confider the latter as a naufeous medi-
cine, which is never to be taken without necefiity ;
and even then in no greater quantity than the necef-
iity requires.

CHAP. VI.

Of Fafflon.

JlSEFORE I proceed to confider the rational prin-
ciples of action, it is proper to obierve, th:it there
are fome things belonging to the mind, which have
great influence upon human condud:, by exciting or
allaying, inflaming or cooling the animal principles
we have mentioned.

Three of this kind deferve particular confideration.
I fliall call them by the names of pajjlon, difpofition^
and opinion.

The meaning of the word pajjion is not precifely
afcertained, either in common dlfcourfe, or in the
writings of Philofophers.

I think it is commonly put to fignify fome agitati-
on of mind, which is oppofed to that ftate of tran-
quillity and compofurc, in wiiich a ma-n is moll:
maftcr of himfclf.

The word r«^c;, which anfwers to it in the Greek
language, is, by Cicero, rendered by the word
pcrturbatio.

It ha3 always been conceived to bear analogy to a
ftorm at fea, or to a tcn^.pefl in the air. It does not
therefore iignify any thing in the mind that is con-
iiant and permanent, but fomcthing that is occafi-
onal, and has a limited duration, like a llorm or
tempeft.

Paflion

OF PASSION. 171

P.i.frioii commonly produce^ fcnfiblc effccls even
upon the body. It changes the voice, the features,
and the gelture. The external ligns of pafiion have,
in fome cafes, a great refemblance to thofe of mad-
rcls ; in others, to thofc of melancholy. It gives
often a dezree of mufcular force and acrility to the
body, far beyond wliat it poilelles in calm mo-
ments.

The effc6ls of pafTion upon the mind are not lefs
remarkable. It turns the thoughts involuntarily to
the ob)e(5ts related to it, fo that a man can hardly
think of any tiling elfe. It gives often a ftrangc
bias to the judgment, making a man quickfighted in
every thing that tends to inflame Iiis pafiion, and to
iuftity it, but blind to every thing that tends to
ino(ierate and allay it. Like a magic lanthorn, it
raifes up fpcclres and apparitions that have no reality,
and throws falfe colours upon every objcft. It can
turn deformity into beauty, vice into virtue, and
virtue into vice,

Tlic fcntimcnts of a man under its influence will
appear abfurd and ridiculous, not only to other men,
but even to himfclf when the ftorm is fpent and is
fiicceeded by a calm. Tafiion often gives a violent
impuHe to the will, and makes a man do v.'hat he
knows he fliall repent as long as he lives.

That f ich are the elfefts of pafTion, I tliink all
men agree. They have been defcrihcd in lively co-
lours by poets, orators and moralifts, in all ages,
liut men have given more attention to the cifects of
p.iflion tiian to its nature ; and while tlicy have co-
}?ioully and elegantly dcfcribcd the former, they
Ji.ivo not prccifcly defined the latter.

The controveriy between the ancient Peripatetics
and the Stoics, with regard to the pafiion.s, was pro-
bably owing to their aHixing dinerent meanings to
the word, 'i'he one fcct siaintaineil, that the paf-
uons arc good, and ufcful parts of our confHtution,
whil'j thev are held under tlu frovernment of reafon.

The

T72 ESSAY III. Chap. VI.

The other feci, conceivinc; that nothing is to be call-
ed paflion which does not, in fome depjree, cloud
and darken the undcrftanding, confidcred all pafTion
as hoiHle to reafon, and therefore maintained, that,
in the wife man, palHon fhould have no exiftencc,
but be utterly exterminated.

If both fects had agreed about the definition of
paflion, they would probably have liad no dilTerencc.
But while one conlidered pafiion only as the caufe of
thofe bad effects which it often produces, and tlie
other confidered it as fitted by nature to produce
good effects, while it is under fubjeftion to reafon,
it does not appear that what one feci juflilied, was
the fame thing which the other condemned. Both
allowed that no didate of pallion ought to be fol-
lowed in oppofition to reafon. Their difference
therefore was verbal more than real, and war. owing
to their giving different meanings to the fame
word.

The precife meaning of this word feemr, not to be
more clearly afcertained among modern Fhilofo-
phcrs.

Mr. Hume gives the name of pqffion to every prin-
ciple of action in the human mind ; and, in coufe-
quencc of this maintains, that every man is, and
curht to be led by his pallions, and that the ufe of
reafon is to be fubfervient to the paflions.

Dr. HuTciiEsoN, confidering all the principles of
action as fo many determinations or motions of the
will, di\ndes them into the calm and the turbulent.
The turbulent, he fiys, are our appetites and our
paflions. Of the paffions, as well as of the calm
determinations, he fays, that " fome arc bcnevo-
'* lent, others are felfifh ; that anger, envy, indig-
" nation, and fome others, may be either felfifli or
'- benevolent, according as they arife from fome on-
'" pofition to our own iyterefls, or to thofe of our
'^ friends, or Derfons beloved or efteemed.'*

O F P A S S I O N. 173

It r.ppcars, therefore, that tliis excellent author
gives the name of pajfions^ not to every principle of
action, hut to fome, and to thofe only when they
arc turbulent and vehement, not when tliey arc calm
and deliberate.

Our natural defires and afleclions may be fo calm
[\^ to leave room for refleclion, fo that wc fnid no
dilFicuky in deliberating coolly, whether, in fucli a
particular infiancc, they ought to be gratified or not.
On other occafions, they nniy be fo importunate as
to make deliberation very diiilcult, urging us, by a
kind of violence, to their immediate gratificati-
on.

Thus, a man may be fenfiblc of an injury witli-
out being inflamed.. He judges coolly of the injury,
and of the proper means of redrcfs. This is refent-
ment without pafiion. It leaves to the man the
entire command of himfelf.

On another occafion, the flime principle of refent-
ment rifcs into a flame. His blood boils within him ;
his looks, his voice and his gefture are changed ; he
can think of nothing but immediate revenge, and
feels a ftrong impulie, without regard to confequen-
ces, to fliy and do things which his cool reafon cannot
juftify. This is the palTion of refcntment.

Wliat has been faid of refentment may eafily be
applied to other natural dcfires and affections. When
they are fo calm as neither to produce any fenliblc
effects upon the body, nor to darken the undcrfland-
ing and weaken the power of felf-command, they
are not called pallions. But the fame principle,
when it becomes fo violent as to produce thefe ef-
fects upon the body and upon the mind, is a paffion,
or, as Cicero very properly calls it, a pertur-
bation.

It is evident, that this m.eaning of the word pu/Jion
accords mucli better with its common uTc in lan-
guage, than that v/hich Mr. Hume gives it.

Wlicn

»74

ESSAY III. Chap. VI.

When he fays, that men ought to be governed by
their paillons only, and that the ufe of reafon is to
be fubfervient to the paffions, this, at firft hearing,
appears a fliocking paradox, repugnant to good
morals and to common fcn^e ; but, like moft other
paradoxes, when explained according to his mean-
ing, it is nothing but an abufe of words.

For if v/e give the name of pajjlon to every prin-
ciple of adion, in every degree, and give the name
of reafon folely to the power of difcerning the fitnefs
of means to ends, it will be true, that the ufe of
reafon is to be fubfervient to the paffions.

As I with to ufe words as agreeably as poiTible to
their common ufe in language, I (hall, by the word
fa [[ion mean, not any principle of aclion diftincl from
ihofe defires and affections before explained, but
iucli a degree of vehemence in them, or in any of
them, as is apt to produce thofe effedls upon the
body or upon the mind which have been above
defcribed.

Our appetites, even Avhen vehement, are not, I
think, very commonly called paffions, yet they are
capable of being inflamed to rage, and in that cafe
their effects are very fimilar to thofe of the pafiions ;
and what is faid of one may be applied to both.

Having explained what I mean by paffions, I think
it unneceffary to enter into any enumeration of
them, fince they differ, not in kind, but ratlicr in
degree, from the principles already enumerated.

The common dlvifion of the paffions into ciefire
and avcrfion, hope and fear, joy and grief, has been
mentioned almoft by every author who has treated
of them, and needs no explication. But we may
olfferve, that thcfc are ingredients or modifications,
not of the paffions only, but of every principle of
acfion, animal and rational.

All of them imply the dcfire of fome obje^l ; and
the defire of an obiecl cannot be without avcrfion
to its contrary ; and, according as the objecl is

prcfent

OF PASSION. 175

prefect or abfcnt, dcHrc and averfion will be vari-
oufly modified into joy or grief, hope or fear. It is
evident, that delire and averfion, joy and grief,
hope and fear, may be either calm and fcdatc, or
vehement and paflionate.

Palling thefe, therefore, as common to all princi-
ples of aclion, whether calm or vehement, I fliall
only make fome obfervations on paflion in general,
which tend to fhew its influence on human con-
ducf.

Fj/;/^^ It is paflion that makes us liable to ftrong
temptations. Indeed, if we had no paflions, wc
fhould hardly be under any temptation to wron^
conduct. For, when we view things calmly, and
free from any of the falfe colours which pafiion
throws upon them, we can hardly fail to fee the right
and the wrong, and to lee that the firft is more
eligible than the laft.

I believe a cool and deliberate preference of ill to
good is never the firll ftep into vice.

" When the woman law that the tree was good
" for food, and that it was pleafant to the eyes, and
" a tree to be defired to make one wife, Ihe took
" of tlie fruit thereof and did eat ; and gave alfo
" to her hufband with her and he did eat ; and the
*' eyes of them both were opened." Inflamed dc-
fire had blinded the eyes of their underitanding.

Fix'd on the fruit flie gaz'd, which to behold
Might tempt alone ; and in her ears the found
Yet rung of his perfuafive words impregn'd
V7ith reafon to her feeming, and with truth.

lair to the eye, inviting to the talte.

Of virtue to make wife, what Jiinders then
To rttach and Iced at once butJi body and mind.

Milton.

Thus our firfl; parents were tempted to difobev
their Maker, and all their poitcriiy are liable to temp-
tation

1-6 ESSAY III. Chap. Vr.

tation from the fame caufc. Pafllon, or violent ap-
petite, firft blinds the undcrftanding, and then per-
verts the will.

It is pafTion. therefore, and the vehement motions
of appetite, that make u.s liable, in our prefent
Hate, to ilrong temptations to deviate from our
duty. This is the lot of human nature in the pre--
fent period of our exiftence.

Human virtue muft gather ftrcncrth by ftruggle
and etTort. As infants, before they tan v^alk with-
out ftumbling, mufl be expofed to many a fall and
bruife ; as wreftlcrs acquire their llrenglh and agility
by mahy a combat and violent exertion ; fa it is in
the nobleft powers of human nature, as well as the
meaneft, and even in virtue itfelf.

It is not only made manifeft by temptation and
trial, but by thefe means it acquires its Itrength and
vi2:our.

Men muft acquire patience by fuffering, and for-
titude by being expofed to danger, and every other
virtue by iituations that put it to trial and cxer-
cife.

This, for any thing we know% may be necell^iry
in the nature of thinsis. It is certainlv a law of na-
ture with regard to man.

Whether there may be orders of intelligent and
moral creatures who never w^re fubject to any temp-
tation, nor had their virtue put to any trial, we
cannot without prcfumption determine. But it is
evident, that this neither is, nor ever was the lot of
man, not even in the ftate of innocence.

Sad, indeed, would be the condition of man, if
the temptations to which, by the conftitution of his
nature, and by his circumilances, he is liable, were
irrefiitible. Such a ftate would not at all be a ftate
of trial and difcipline.

Our condition here is fuch, that, on the one hand,
paflion often tempts and folicits us to do wrong ; on
the other hand, reafon and confcicncc oppole the

dictates

OF PASSION. 177

dictates of paflion. The flcfli luftcth againft the
Ipirit, and the fpiiit againll the llcfli. And upon,
the ilTue of this conflict, the character of the man
and his fate depend.

If rcafon be viclorious, his virtue is ftrenpfthened ;
he has the inward fatishiction of havino: fought a
good fight in behalt ot his duty, and the peace of
his mind is preferved.

If, on the other hand, paflion prevails ac^ainfl the
fenfe of duty, tlie man is confcious of liaving done
what lie ought not, and might not have done.
His own heart condemns him, and he is guilty to
liimfelf.

This conflict between the paflions of our animal
nature and the calm dictates of reafon and confci-
cnce, is not a theory invented to folve the phcenomena
of human conduct, it is a fact, of which every
man who attends to his own conduct is confcious.

In the moft ancient philofophy, of \\hich w^e have
any account, I mean that of the Pythagorean fchool,
the mind of man was compared to a Itate, or com-
monwealth, in which there are various powers,
fome that ought to govern, and others that ought to
be lubordinate.

The good of the w^hole, which is the fupreme law
in thia, as in every commonwealth, requires that this
fubordination be preferved, and that the governing
powers have always the afcendant over the appetites
and paflions. All wife and good conduct confllts in
this. All folly and vice in the prevalence of paflion
over the dictates of rcafon.

This philofophy was adopted by Pi-ato ; and it is
fo agreeable to what every man feels in himfelf, that
it muft always prevail with men who think without
bias to a fyflem.

The governing powers, of which thefe ancient
Philofophers fpeak, are the fame which I call the
rational principles of action, and which I fliall have
uccalioii to exnldin. I only mcntioii them here, be-

M caufe.

178 ESSAY III. Chap. VI.

caufe, without a regard to them, the influence of
the paflions, and their rank in our conftitution,
cannot be diftincrly underftood.

Afeco'id obfcrvation is. That the impulfe of paiTion
is not always to what is bad, but very often to what
is good, and what our reafon approves. There are
fome paffions, as Dr. Hutchf.son obferves, that are
benevolent, as well as others that are felfifli.
' The afl'e^tions of refentment and emulation, with
thofe that fpring from tliem, from their very nature,
difturb and difquiet the mind, though they be not
carried beyond the bounds which reafon prefcribes ;
and therefore they are commonly called pafiions,
even in their moderate degrees. From a fimilar
caufe, the benevolent affe6lions, which arc placid in
their nature, and are rarely carried beyond the
bounds of reafon, are very feldom called pafTions.
We do not give the name of paflion to benevolence,
gratitude or friendfliip. ' Yet we muft except from
this general rU'C, love between the fexes, which, as
it commonly difcompofes the mind, and is not eafily
kept within reafonable bounds, is always called a
paflion.

All our natural deflres and afleclions are good and
neceilary parts of our conftitution ; and paflion,
being only a certain degree of vehemence in thefe,
its natural tendency is to good, and it is by accident
that it leads us wrong.

Paflion is very properly faid to be blind. It looks
not beyond the prefent gratification. It belongs to
reafon to attend to the accidental circumfl:ances which
may fometimes make that gratification improper or
hurtful. When there is no impropriety in it, much
more when it is our duty, paflion aids reafon, and
gives additional force to its dictates.

Sympathy with the diftrefled may bring them a
charitable relief, when a calm fenfe of duty would
be too weak to produce the efifed.

Objects,

OF PASSION.

Objedts, either good or ill, conceived to be very
dillant, when they are coniidcred coolly, have not
that influence upon men which in reafon they ouTht
to have. Imagination, like the eye, diminiflicth its
ob]e<5^3 in proportion to their diilance. The pallions
of hope and fe:ir mull be raifed, in order to give
luch objecis their due magnitude in the imagination,
and their due influence upon our conduct.

The dread of" difgrace and of the civil magiflrate,
and theapprehenlion of future puniiliment, prevent
many crimes, which bad men, without thefe ref-
traints, would commit, and contribute greatly to
the peace and good order of fociety.

There is no bad aftion which fome pallion may not
prevent ; nor is there any external good action, of
which fome palTion may not be the main fpring ;
and, it is very probable, that even the pafTions of
men, upon the whole, do more good to fociety than
hurt.

The ill that is done draws our attention more, and
is imputed folcly to human pallions. The good may
have better motives, and charity leads us to think
that it has ; but, as we fee not the heart, it is im-
poflible to determine wfiat fliare men's paiTions may
have in its production.

The Iq/l obfcrvation is. That if we diftinguifli, in
the efl'ecSts of our paffions, thofe which are altogether
involuntary, and without the fphere of our power,
from the cilecls which may be prevented by an ex-
ertion, perhaps a great exertion, of felf-governmcnt;
we fhall fmd the firft to be good and highly ufeful,
and the lail only to be bad.

Not to fpeak of the cficxls of moderate paflions
upon the health of the body, to which ibme agitati
on of this kind feems to be no Icfs ufeful than llorms
and tcmpcfts to the falubrity of the air ; every
pailion naturally draws our attention to its objecl,
and intcrcfts us in it.

M 2 The

i8<5 ESSAY III. Chap. VI.

The mind of man is naturally defultory, and when
it has no interclling objedt in view, roves from one
to another, without fixing its attention upon any
one. A tranficnt and carelcfs glance is all that we
bcftow upon objeds in which we take no concern.
It requires a ftrong degree of curiofity, or fome more
important paffion, to give us that intercft in an ob-
jedt which is necelfary to our giving attention to it.
And, without attention, we can form no true and
Itable judgment of any object.

Take away the pafilons, and it is not eafy to fay
how great a part of mankind would refemble thofe
frivolous mortals, who never had a thought that en-
gaged them in good carnell.

It is not mere judgment or intellectual ability that
enables a man to excel in any art or fcience. He
mufthave alove and admiration of it bordering up-
on enthufiafm, or a pafiionate delire of the fame, or
of fome other advantage to be got by that excellence.
Without this, he would not undergo the labour and
fatigue of his faculties, which it requires. So that,
I think, we may with juftice allow no fmall merit
to the pafllons, even in the difcovcries and improve-
ments of the arts and fcicnces.

If the pailions for fame and diftinclion were ex-
tinguifhed, it would be difficult to lind men ready
to undertake the cares and toils of government ;
and few perhaps would make the exertion ncceflary
to raife themfcivcs above the ignoble vulgar.

The involuntary figns of the pafllons and difpofi-
tions of the mind, in the voice, features, and acti-
on, are a part of the human conftitution which de-
fcrves admiration. The fignification of thofe figns
is known to all men by nature, and previous to all
experience.

They are fo many openings into the fouls of our
fcUow-men, by which their fcntiments become vili-
blc to the eye. They arc a natural language com-

mun

OF PASSION. i8i

mon to mankind, without which It would have been
imiHinible to have invented any artificial language.

It is from the natural figns of the paflions and dif-
pofitions of the mind, that the human form derives
its beauty ; that painting, poetry, and mufic, de-
rive their exprcflion; that cloc[uence derives its great-
eft force, and converfation its greateil charm.

The paiTions, when kept within their proper
bounds, cive life and vii2:our to the whole man.
Without them man would be a Hug. We fee what
polifli and animation the pafTion of love, when ho-
nourable and not unfuccefsful, gives to both fexes.

The paflion for military glory raifes the brave
commander, in the day of battle, far above himfelf,
making his countenance to^fhine, and his eyes to
fparkle. The glory of old England warms the heart
even of the Britiih tar, and makes him defpife eve-
ry danger.

As to the bad efTecIs of pafTion, It muft be ac-
knowledged that it often gives a ftrong impulfe to
v/hat is bad, and what a man condemns himfelf for,
as foon as It is done. But he muft be confcicms that
the impulfe, though ftrong, was not irrehllible,
othcrwife he could rnot condemn himfelf.

We allow that a fudden and violent paflion. Into
which a man is furprifed, alleviates a bad aclion ;
but if it was irrefiftiblc, it would not only alleviate,
but totally exculpate, which it never does, either
in the judgment of the man himfelf, or of others.

To fum up all, paflion furnilhes a very ftrong in-
ftance of the truth of the common maxim, That
the corruption of the bell things is woril.

c II A r.

1 82 ESSAY III. CiiAP.Vir.

C H A P. Vll.

Of Bfp'iftthn.

lZ)Y difpofit'ion I mean a flatc of mine] wliich, while
it lads, giv^es a tendency, or proncnefs, to be mov-
ed by certain animal principles, rather than by
others ; while, at another time, another ftate of
mind, in the fame perfon, may give the afcendant
to other animal principles.

It was before obferved, that it is a property of
our appetites to be periodical, ceafmg for a time,
when fated by their objects, and returning regularly
after certain periods.

Even thofe principles which are not periodical,
have their ebbs and flows occafionally, according to
the prefent difpofition of the mind.

Among fome of the principles of acllon there is a
natural affinity, fo that one of the tribe naturally
difpofes to thofe which are allied to it.

Such an afilnity has been obferved by many good
authors to be among all the benevolent aHeclions.
The exercife of one benevolent affe6lion gives a
pronenefs to the exercife of others.

There is a certain placid and agreeable tone of
mind which is common to them all, which feems to
be the bond of that connexion and affinity they
have with one another.

The malevolent affe<51:ions have alfo an affinity,
and mutually difpofe to each other, by means, per-
haps, of that difagreeable feeling common to them
all, which makes the mind fore and uneafy.

As far as we can trace the caufes of the diffi^rcnt
difpofitions of the mind, they fecm to be in fomc
cafes owing to thofe aflbciating powers of the prin-
ciples

OF DISPOSITION. 183

ciplcs of adion, which have a natural afllnity, and
arc prone to keep company with one another ; fome-
tinies to accidents of good or bad fortune, and fome-
times, no doubt, the ftate of the body may have
inliucnce upon the difpohtion of the mind.

At one time the ftate of the mind, like a fercne
unclouded fky, fliews every thing in the moft agree-
able light. Then a man is prone to benevolence,
compallion, and every kind afibction ; unfafpicious,
not eahly provoked.

The Poets have obferved that men have their mol-
lld temporu fandi, when they are averfe from faying
or doing a harfh thing ; and artful men watch thefe
occafions, and know how to improve them to pro-
mole their ends.

This dii'polition, I think, we comm^only call good
humour, of which, in the fair fex, Mr. Pope fays,

Good humour only teaches charms to laft.
Still makes new conquefts, and maintains the paft.

There is no difpofition more comfortable to the
perfon himfclf, or more agreeable to others, than
good humour. It is to the mind, what good health
is to the body, putting a man in the capacity of en-
joying every tiling that is agreeable in life, and of
ufing every faculty without clog or impediment. It
difpofes to contentment with our lot, to benevo-
lence to all men, to fympathy Midi the diftrelTed.
It prefents every object in the moft favourable light,
and difpofes us to avoid giving or taking offence.

This happy difpofition feems to be the natural
fruit of a good confcience, and a firm belief that the
world is under a wife and benevolent adminiftrati-
cn ; and, when it fprings from this root, it is aa
habiiu.il fentijnent of piety.

(iCod humour is likewife apt to be produced by
hijipy fuccefs, or unexpe(5ted good fortune. Joy
aiid hope arc favourable to it; vexation and difap-
pointment are unfavourable.

The

i84 ESSAY III. Chap. VH.

The only danger of this difpofiUon feems to be.
That if we are not upon our guard, it may degene-
rate into levity, and indifpofe us to a proper degree
of caution, and of attention to the future confe-
quences of our acfcions.

There is a difpofition oppofite to good humour
which we call bad humour^ of which the tendency is
directly contrary, and therefore its influence is as
malignant, as that of the other is falutary.

Bad humour alone is fufiicient to make a man un-
happy ; it tinges every object with its own dilinal
colour ; and, like a part that is galled, is hurt by
every thing that touches it. It takes offence where
none was meant, and difpofes to difcontent, jealou-
fy, envy, and, in general, to malevolence.

Another couple of oppofite difpofitionsare^f/cr/ZciWof
mind, on the one hand, and dcpnjjkn, on the other.

Thefe contrary difpofitions are both of an ambi-
guous nature ; their influence may be good or bad,
according as they are grounded on true or faUb opi-
nion, and according as they are regulated.

That elation of mind which arifes from a juft
fenfe of the dignity of our nature, and of the
powers and faculties with which God hath endowed
us, is true magnanimity, and difpofes a man to the
nobleft virtues, and the moll heroic aclions and en-
terprifes.

There is alfo an elation of mind, Mhich arifes
from a confcloufnefs of our worth and integrity,
fuch as Job felt, when he faid, " Till I die, 1 will
" not remove my intcfiritv from me. Mv ria:htc-
*' oufnefs I hold fail, and will not let it go ; my
" heart Ihall not reproach me while I live." This
may be called the pride of virtue ; but it is a noble
pride. It makes a man dildain to do what is bafe
or mean. This is the true fenfe of honour.

But there is an elation of mind arifing from a
vain opinion of our having talents, or worth, which
>ve haye not ; or from putting an undue value up-

OF DISPOSITION. 135

on any of our endowments of mind, body, or for-
tune. This is pride, the parent of many odious
vices ; fuch as arroc^ance, undue contempt of others,
fclf-partiality, and vicious felf-love.

Tlic oppofite dil'pofition to elation of mind, is de-
preflion, which alio has good or bad cfl'ccls, accord-
ing as it is grounded upon true or falfc opinion.

A jufl: feufc of the ^^•eaknefs and imperfections of
human nature, and ot our own perfonal faults and
defeats, is true humility. It is not to think of ourfclrci
above zvhat ice oiigl.<t to think ; a moft falutary and
amiable difpofition ; of great price in the light of
Cjoi) and man. Nor is it inconiiftcnt with real mag-
nanimity and great nels of foul. They may chvell
together with great advantage and ornament to
both, and be faithful monitors againft the extremes
to w Inch each has the greatcft tendency.

But there is a depreflion of mind which is the op-
pofite to magnanimity, which debilitates the fprings
of a«^tion, and trcczcs every fentiment tliat fhould
lead to any noble exertion or enterprife.

Suppoie a man to have no belief of a good admi-
niftration of the world, no conception of the dig-
nity of ^■irtuc, no hope of happinefs in another
Hate. Supjiofe him, at the fame time, in aflateof
extreme poverty and dependence, and that he has
no higher aim than to fupply his bodily v ants, or to
minifier to the picafurc, or flatter the pride of fome
being as worthlefs as hinifelf. Is not the foul of fuch
a man deprefled as much as his body or his fortune ?
And, if iortunc fhould fmile upon him while he
retains the lame Icntiments, he is only the Have of
fortune. His mind is deprefled to the ftate of a brute;
and his human fiicultics ferve only to make him feel
that depreflion.

Depreflion of the mind may be owing to melan-
choly, a diflemper of mind which proceeds from
the Ibite of the body, which throws a difinal gloom
upon every objedl of thought, cuts all the flnews of

action.

i86 ESSAY III. C:iA?. VII.

aclion, and often gives rife to ftrange and abfurd
opinions in religion, or in other intereiling matters.
Yet, M'here there is real worth at l)Ott(Mn, fonic
rays of it will break forth even in this depreffed ftate
of mind.

A remarkable inftance of tiiis was exhibited in
Mr. Simon Brown, a diffcnting clergyman in P^ng-
land, who, by melancholy, was led into the belief
that his rational foul had gradually decayed within
Jiim, and at laft was totally extinct. From this be-
lief he gave up his miniftcrial funcTion, and would
not even join with others in any adt of worfliip,
conceiving it to be a profanation to worfhip God
vdthout a foul.

In this difmal flate of mind, he wrote an excel-
lent defence of the Chriftian relio-ion, a2;ainft Tin-
dal's CJjrlJlianity as old as the Creation. To the book
he prefixed an epiftle dedicatory to Queen Caro-
line, wherein he mentions, " That he was once a
" man, but, by the immediate hand of God, for
" his lins, his very thinking fubftance has, for more
" than feven years, been continually wafting away,
" till it is wholly periflied out of him, if it be not
" utterly come to nothing." And, having heard
of her Majefty's eminent piety, he begs the aid of
her prayers.

The book was publiflied after his death without
\\\z dedication, which, however, having been pre-
fcrved in manufcript, was afterwards printed in the
Adventurer, No. 88.

Thus this go(>d man, when he believed that he
had no foul, Ihewed a moll generous and dilintc-
relled concern for thofe who had fouls.

As deprefiion of mind may produce ftrange opi-
nions, cfpeciaily in the cafe of melancholy, fo our
opinions may have a very confiderable influence,
either to elevate or to dcprefs the mind, even where
there is no melancholy.

Suppolc.

O F O P I N I O N. 187

Suppofc, on one hand, a man who believes that
lie is dcllined to an eternal exiftence ; that he who
made, and who governs the world, makcth account
of him, and hath furnifhed him with the means of
attaining a high degree of perfeclion and glory.
With this man compare, on the other hand, the
man who believes nothing at all, or who believes
that his exiftence is only the play of atoms, and that,
after he hath been tolled about by blind fortune for
a few years, he fliall again return to nothing : Can
it be doubted, that the former opinion leads to ele-
vation and greatnefs of mind, the latter to mean-
.icfs and deprcfliou ?

CHAP. VIIL

Of opinion.

VV H E N we come to explain the rational princi-
ples of action, it will appear, that opinion is an ef-
fer.tial ingredient in them. Here we are only to
confider its influence upon the animal principles.
iSome of thofe I have ranked in that clafs cannot, I
think, exill in the human mind without it.

Gratitude fuppoles the opinion of a favour done
or intended ; refcntment the opinion of an injury ;
cfl:eem the opinion of merit ; the paflion of love
fuppofes the opinion of uncommon merit and per-
fection in its objecl.

Although natural aflecfion to parents, children,
and near relations, is not grounded on the opinion
of their merit, it is much incrcaied by that conli-
dcration. So is every benevolent atfedion. On tlie
contrary, real malevolence can hardly exift without
the opiriiou of demerit in the objecl.

There

i83 E S S A Y IIL Chap. VIII.

There is no natural defireor averfion, which may
not be rcftrained by opinion. Thus, if a man were
athirft, and had a llron^^ delire to drink, the opini-
on that there was poifon in the cup would make him
forbear.

It is evident, that hope and fear, which every na-
tural defire or affeclion may create, depend upon the
opinion of future good or ill.

Thus it appears, that our pafTlons, our difpofltions,
and our opinions, have great influence upon our ani-
mal principles, to ftrengthcn or weaken, to excite
or reftrain them •, and, by that means, have great
influence upon human a<5lions and characters.

That brute-animals have both paflions and difpo-
fitions fimilar, in many refpecls, to thofe of men,
cannot be doubted. Whether they have opinions,
is not fo clear. I think they have not, in the pro-
per fenfe of the word. But, waving all difpute up-
on this point, it will be granted, that opinion in
men ,has a much wider fickl than in brutes. No
man will fay, that they have fyftems of theology,
morals, jurifprudence or politics ; or that they can
reafon from the laws of nature, in mechanics, me-
dicine, or agriculture.

They feel the evils or enjoyments that arc prefcnt;
probably they imagine thofe which experience has
aifociated with what they feel. But they can take
no large profpe^fl either of the palt or of the future,
nor fee through a train of confequences.

A dog may be deterred from eating what is be-
fore him, by the fear of immediate punifhment,
which he has felt on like occaiions ; but he is never
deterred by the confideration of health, or of any
dillant good.

I have been credibly informed, that a monkey,
having once been intoxicated with ftrong drink, in
confequcnce of which, it burnt its foot in the fire,
and had a I'evere lit of ficknefs, could never after be
induced to drink any thing but pure water. I be-
lieve

O F O ? I N 1 O N. 189

licve this is the utmoft pitch which the (acuities of
bi utes can reach.

From the influence of opinion upon the conducfl
of mankind we may learn, that it is one of the chief
inftrumcnts to be ufed in the difcipline and govern-
ment of men.

All men, in the early part of life, muft be under
the difcipline and government of parents and tutors.
Men, wlio live in fociety, mull be under the govern-
ment of laws and magillrates, tlirough lile. The
government of men is undoubtedly one of the no-
"bleft exertions of human power. And it is of great
importance, that thole uho have any Ihare, eilher
in domeftic or civil government, fliould know the
nature of man, and how he is to be trained and go-
verned.

Of all inflruments of government, opinion is the
fwceteii', and the moft agreeable to the nature of
man. Obedience that Hows from opinion, is real
Ireedom, which every man defircs. 'I'hat which is
extorted by fear of punilhmcnt, is flavery ; a yoke
which is always galling, and which e\ ery man will
i'lake oil when it is in his power.

The opinions of the bulk of mankind have always
been, and \\ ill always be, what they are taught by
thole whom they clleem to be wife and good ; and,
therefore, in a conliderable degree, are in the pow-
er of tliole who govern ihem.

Man, uncorrupted by bad habits and bad opinions,
is of all animals tlic moll: trat^lable ; corrupted by
thcfe, he is of all aninials the moft untradtable.

1 api)rchcnd, therefore, that if ever civil govern-
ment lliall be brought to perfection, it nmft be the
principal care of the Hate to make good citizens by
jiropcr education, iuid proper inlUUi^iion and dilci-
pllnc.

'ihe moft ufeful part of medicine is that wli^cli
ftrcngthens the coriftiiution, and prevents diicales
by good regimen ; the rcll is foiucw iiat like propping

u luin-

lyo ESSAY III. Chap. VIIL

a ruinous fabric at great cxpcnce, and to little pur-
pofc. The art of government is the medicine of
the mind, and the moll: ufcful part of it is that which
prevents crimes and bad habits, and trains men to
virtue and good habits, by proper education and dif-
cipline.

The end of government is to make the fociety hap-
py, which can only be done by making it good and
^irtuous.

That men in general will be good or bad members
of fociety, according to the education and difcipline
by which they have been trained, experience may
convince us.

The prefent age has made great advances in the
art of training men to military duty. It will not be
faid, that thofe who enter into that fervice are more
tradiable than their fellow-fubjeds of other profefli-
ons. And 1 know not whv it fhould be thou-^iht im-
pofiible to train men to equal perfe6lion in the other
duties of good citizens.

What an immenfe difference is there, for the pur-
pofc of war, between an army properly trained, and
a militia haftily drawn out of the multitude ? What
fliould hinder us from thinking, that, for every pur-
pofe of civil government, there may be a like diffe-
rence betw^een a civil fociety properly trained to vir-
tue, good habits and right lentimcnts, and thofe ci-
vil focieties v/hich we nov/ behold ? But I fear I fliall
be thought to digrefs from my fubjecl: into Utopian
fpeculation.

To make an end of what I have to fay upon the
animal principles of action, we may take a complex
view of their effecl in life, by fuppofmg a being actu-
ated by principles of no higher order, to liave no con-
fcicncc or fenfe of duty, only let us allow him that
fuperiority of underftanding, and that power of felf-
gcvernment which man actually has. Let us fpecu-
late a little upon this imaginary being, and confider

what

OF OPINION. 19 X

what conduct and tenor of aclion might be expc(5led
from him.

It is evident he would be a very different animal
from a brute, and pcrhapr, not very different, in ap-
pearance, from what a great part of mankind is.

He would be capable of conlidering the diftant
confcquences of his actions, and of reliraining or in-
dulging his appetites, defires and affections, from the
conlidcration of diftant good or evil.

lie would be capable of chufmg fome main end of
Ills life, and planning fuch a rule of condud as ap-
peared moll fubfervicnt to it. Of this we have rea-
fon to think no brute i:s capable.

We can perhaps conceive fuch a balance of the ani-
mal principles of aftion, as, with very little felf-go-
vcmmcnt, mijrht make a man to be a n;ood mem-
ber of fociety, a good companion, and to have ma-
ny amiable qualities.

The balance of our animal principles, I think, con-
flitutes what we call a man's natural temper ; which
may be good or bad, without regard to his virtue.

A man in whom the benevolent affections, the dc-
fire ofefteemand good humour are naturally preva-
lent, who is of a calm and difpafiionate nature, who
has the good fortune to live with good men, and al-
fociate with good com.panions, may behave properly
with little effort.

His natural temper leads him, in moO: cafes, to do
what virtue requires. And if he happens not to be
expofed to thofe trying fituations, in which virtue
croiles the natural bent of his temper, he has no great
temptation to act amifs.

But perhaps a happy natural temper, joined with
fuch a happy lituation, is more ideal than real, though
no doubt fon^.e men make nearer approaches t j it
than others.

The temper and the fituation of men is common-
ly fuch, that the animal principles alone, without

fclf-

192 ESSAY III. Chap. Vlir.

iclf-govcrnmcnt, would never produce any regular
and conliilcnt train of conduct.

One principle crofTes another. Without felf-go-
vernmcut, that which is ilrongeft at the time will
prevail. And that which is vveakeft at one time
may, from pillion, from a change of difpolition or
of fortune, become ilroncreil at another time.

o ^

Every natural appetite, defire and afl'ection, has
its own prefent gratification only in view. A man,
therefore, who has no other leader than thefe, would
be like a Ihip in the ocean without hands, which
cannot be faid to be dcltined to any port. He would
f.ave no character at all, but be benevolent or fpite-
tul, pleafant or morofc, honeft or dilhoneft, as the
}»rcfent wind of pafllon or tide of humour moved
iiim.

Every man who purfues an end, be it good or bad,
mud be active when he is difpofed to be indolent ;
he muft rein every paflion and appetite that would
lead him out of his road.

Mortification and felf-denial are found not in the
path of virtue only, they are common to every road
that leads to an end, be it ambition, or avarice, or
even pleafure itfclf. Every man who maintains an
uniform and confident character, muft fweat and'
toil, and often ftruggle with his prefent inclination.

Yet thcfe who ileadily purfue fome end in life,
though they muft often reilrain their llrongeft de-
llres, and practife much felf-denial, have, upon the
whole, more enjoyment than thofe who have no end
at all, but to gratify the prefent prevailing incli-
nation.

A dog that is made for the chafe, cannot enjoy the
happincls of a dog without that exercife. Keep him
within doors, feed him with the mo'l delicious fare,
give him all the pleafures his nature is capable of, he
i'uon becomes a dull, torpid, unhappy animal. No
enjoyment can fupply the want of that employment
whicii nalurc huj niadc hi.; chici good. Let him

hunt.

Rational Principles of Action in Man. 193

hunt, and neither paiii nor huni^cr nor fiitigue fceni
to be evils. Deprived of this exercife, he can rc-
lifli nothing. Life i tie! t becomes burdenfome.

It is no difparagement to the human kind to fay,
that man, as well as the dog, is made for hunting,
and cannot be happy but in fome vigorous purfuit.
He has indeed nobler game to purfue than the dog,
but he muft have fome purfuit, otherwife life Mag-
nates, all the faculties are benumbed, the I'pirits
flag, and his cxillencc becomes an unfupportablc
burden.

Kven the mere foxhunter, who has no higher pur-
fuit tlian his dog-:, has more enjoyment than he
who h IS no purfuit at all. He has an end in viev/,
and this invigorates his fpirits, makes liim defpife
plcafure, and bear cold, hunger and fatigue, as if
tliey were no evils.

Manet fub Jove frigido
Venator, tenerae conjugis immcmor,
Seu vifa eft catulis cerva fidclibus
Scu rupit teretcs marfus aper plagas-

ESSAY III. PART IIL

Of the Rational Principles of Action,

CHAP. I.

There are Rational Principles of AElion in Man,

JVll'XH ANIC AL principles of adion produce
tlicir efTecl without any will or intention on our
part. \Vc may, by a voluntary effort, hinder the
cffcci ; but if it be not hindered by will and eflbrt,
it is produced without them.

N Animal

194 ESSAY III. Chap. I.

Animal principles of aclion require intention anii
v.'ill in tiieir operation, but not judgment. They
are, by ancient moralifts, very properly called c^eca
cup'idinesy blind dcfires.

Having treated of thefc two clalTes, I proceed to
the third, the rational principles of action iu man ;
which have that nahie, becaufe they can have no
exiftence in beings not endowed with reafon, and,
in all their exertions, require, not only intention
and will, but judgment or reafon.

That talent which we call reafon^ by which men
that are adult and of a found mind, are diftinguiih-
ed from brutes, idiots, and infants, has, in all ages,
am.ong the learned and unlearned, been conceived
to have two offices,, to regulate our belief, and to
regulate our actions and conducl:.

\Vhatever we believe, we think agreeable to rea-
fon, and on that account yield our alTent to it.
Whatever we difbdieve, we think contrary to rea-
fon, and on that account, dliient from it. Rea-
fon therefore is allowed to be the principle by which
our belief and opinions ought to be regulated.

But reafon has been no lefs univerfally conceived
to be a principle, by which our actions ought to be
regulated.

To acl reafonably, is a phrafc, no lefs common in
all languages, than' to ju^dge reafonably. We im-
mediately approve of a man's condudl, when it ap-
pears that he had good reafon for what he did. And
every adion we difapprove, 'we think unreafonable,
or contrary to reafon..

Away of fpeakingfo utiiverfal among men, com-
mon to the learned and the unlearned in all nations,
and in all languages, muft have a rheamng. To fup-
pofe it to be words v.'itliout meaning, is to treat,
with undue contempt, the common fenfe of man-
kind.

Suppofing this phrafe to have a meaning, we may
' tonfidx^r in what way reafon may ferve to regulate

human

Rational pRiNcin.rs of Action in INIan. 195

human conduct, fo that fonic aclions of men arc to
be dcnuiiiinated rcafcnablc, and others unrcaronable.

I take it for granted that there can be no exercife
of reafon without judgment, nor, on the other hand,
any judgment of things, abftra6t and general, with-
out fome deg:ree of reafon.

If, therefore, there be any principles of aclion in
the human conftitution, which, in their nature, ne-
ccflarily imply fuch judgment, they are the princi-
ples which we may call ration i.l, to diftinguifli them
from animal principles, which imply defire, and ^vill,
but not judgment.

Every deliberate human aclion muft be done ei-
ther as the means, or as an end ; as .the means to
foiiie end, to which it is fubfervient, or as an end,
for its own fake, and without regard to any thing
beyond it.

That it is a part of the office of reafon to deter-
mine, what are the proper means to any end which
we defire, no man ever denied. But fome Philo-
fophers, particularly Mr. Hume, think that it is no
part of the office of reafon to determine the ends we
ought to purfue, or the preference due to one end
above another. This, he thinks, is not the office
of reafon, but of tafte or feeling.

If this be fo, reafon cannot, with any propriety,
be called a principle of aclion. Its office can only
be to minifter to the principles of adiion, by difco-
vering the means of their gratification. Accord-
ingly Mr. Hume maintains, that reafon is no princi-
ple of adtion ; but that it is, and ought to be, the
fervant of the paffions.

I Ihall endeavour to flicw, that, among the vari-
ous ends of human actions, there are fome, of wiiich,
without reafon, we could not even form a concep-
tion ; and that, as foon as they are conceived, a re-
gard to them is, by our conlHtution, not only a
principle of action, but a leading and governing

N 2 principle.

196 ESSAY III. Chap. II.

principle, to which all our animal principles are fub-
orciinate, and to which they ought to be fubie(ft.

Thefc I ihali call rational principles ; becaufc they
can exiil only in beings endowed ^\'ith reafon, and
becaufe, to act from thefe principles, is what has a'i-
ways been meant by a^^ting according to reafon.

The ends of human aclions I have in view, are
two, to wit. What is good for us upon the whole,
and what appears to be our duty. They are very
Ifridly connet:ted, lead to the flime courfe of con-
duel, and CO operate with each other; and, on that
account, have commonly been comprehended under
one name, that of reafon. But as they m.ay be dis-
joined, and are really didinct principles of action,
I iliall coiilider them feparately.

CHAP. II.

Of Regard to our Good on the IVhole.

IT will not be denied that man, when he comes to
years of underilanding, is led by his rational nature,
to form the conception of what is good for him upon
the whole.

How early in life this general notion of good en-
ters into the mind, I cannot pretend to determine.
It is one of the mofl general and abftracl notions \\&
form.

Whatever makes a man more happy, or more per-
fect:, is good, and is an object of defire as loon as
\^'e are capable of forming the conception of it. lire
coi'^trary is ill, and is an obiecl of avcrfion.

' In

Of regard to our GOOD cm the WHOLE. 197

In the firO; part of life we liavc many enjoyments
of various kinds ; but very fimilar to tiiofe of brute-
animals.

They confiri: in the cxercife of our lenfes and pow-
ers of motion, the gratification of our appetites,
and the exertions of our kind affec^tions. Thefe
arc chequered v. ith many evils of pain, and fear,
and difappointment, and fympathy with the fuiferlngs
of others.

Eut the goods and evils of this period of life are
or fliort duration, and foon forgot. The mind being
regardlcfs of the pait, and unconcerned about the
future, we have then no other mealurc of good but
theprefent defire ; no other mcafure of evil but the
prefent averfion.

Every animal dcfirc has fome particular and pre-
sent object, and looks not beyond that objedl to its
confecjuences, or to the connections it may have
whh other things.

The prefent obje(5l, which is moft attraclive, or
excites the llrongeft delirc, determines the choice,
whatever be its confequenccs. Theprefent evil that
preQ'es moft, is avoided, though it fliould be the road
to a greater good to come, or the only way to efcaps
a greater evil. This is the way in whicli brutes act,
^nd the way in wliich men muil acl, till they come
to the ufe of reafon.

As we grow up to underftanding, we extend our
view both forward and backward. We reflect upo'i
vvli.it is paft, and, by the lamp of experience, difcern
V Int will probably happen in time to come. We
lind that many things which we eagerly de!ired, were
too dearly purchafed, and that things grievous for
the prelent, like naufeous medicines, may be falutary
in the iiTue.

VJc learn to obferve the connections of things,
and the confcquences of our actions ; and, taking
an extended view of our exigence, paft, prefent,
iiiid future, v/c corrcil our firll notions of good and

ill,

198 E S S A Y III. Chat. II.

ill, and from the conception of what is good or ill
upon the whole ; which mufl be eftimated, not from
the prcfent feeling, or from the prefent animal defire
or averfion, but from a due coniideration of its con-
fequcnces, certain or probable, during the whole of
our exiftcnce.

That which, taken Vv'ith all its difcoverable cori^
ncclions and confcquences, brings more good than
ill, I call good upon ibe ivhole.

That brute-animals have any conception of this
good, I fee no reafon to believe. And it is evident,
that man cannot have the conception of it, till reafon
is fo far advanced, that he can ferioufly reflect upon
the paft, and take a profpecl of the future part of his
exiftencc.

It appears therefore, that the very conception of
what is good or ill for us upon the v/hole, is the off-
fpring of reafon, and can be only in beings endowed
with reafon. And if this conception give rife to
anv principle of aclion in man, which he had not
belorc, that principle may very properly be called a
rational principle of aclion.

I pretend not in this to fay any thing that is new,
but what reafon fuggefted to thofe who firft turned
their attention to the philofophy of morals. I beg
leave to quote one pafflige from Cicero, in his firft
book of Offices ; wherein, with his ufual elegance,
he expreffes the fubftance of what I have faid. And
there is good reafon to think that Cicr: ro borrowed
it from Pan^tius, a Greek Philofopher, whofe
books of Oflices are loft.

" Scd inter hominem et belluam hoc maxime in-
" tercft, quod hasc tantum quantum fenfu movetur,
" ad id folum quod adeft, quodque praefens eft fe
" accommodat, paululum admodum fenticns prcc-
" teritum aut futurum : Homo autem quoniam ra-
" tionis eft particeps, per quam confcquentia cernit,
" caufa:. rcrum viclct, carumque pra.greflus et quali
" antccelliones non ignorat ) fimilitudines comparat,

" et

Or REGARD to olr GOOD on 7he WHOLE, i

*' et rebus prxfentibus adjungit atquc anneclit futu-
" r;is ; facile totius vitse curfum vidct ad eauique de-
" gendain prcparat res necefl'arias."

1 o!)lcrve, in the next place. That as foon as we
have the conception of what is good or ill for us
upon tlic whole, we are led, by our coniliturion, to
fcjk the good and avoid the ill ; and this becomes
not only a principle of action, but a leading or go-
verning principle, to which all our animal principles
ought to be fubordinate.

I am very apt to think, with Dr. Price, that, in
intelligent beings, the defire of what is good, and
avcrfion to what is ill, is neceflarily connected with
the intelligent nature ; and that it is a contradiction
to fuppofe fuch a being to have the notion of good
without the delirc of it, or the notion of ill without
averllon to it. Perhaps there maybe other necellary
connections between underftanding and the belt prin-
ciples of action, which our faculties are too weak to
difcern. That they are neccllarily connected in hirn
who i;; perfect in underftanding, v/e have good rea-
fon to believe.

To prefer a greater good, though diftant, to a lefs
that i-. prefent ; to chufe a prefent evil, in order to
avoid a greater evil, or to obtain a greater good, is,
in the judgment of all men, wife and reafonablc
conduct ; and, when a man acts the contrary part,
all men will acknowledge, that he acts fooliihly and
unreafonably. Nor will it be denied, that, in iij nu-
merable cafes in common life, our animal principles
draw us one way, while a regard to what is good on
the whole, draws us the contrary way. thus the
liefl; iuftcth againft the fpirlt, and the fpirit agaiull
the flefh, and thefe two are contrary. '1 hat in e\'c-
)' conflict of this kind the rational principle ought
U) prevail, and the animal to be fubordinate, is too
evident to need, or to admit of proof.

'ihus, I think, it appears, that to purfuc what is
^ood upon the whole, and to avoid what is ill upon

the

200 ESSAY III. Chap. II.

the whole, is a rational principle of action, groun-
ded upon our conftitution as reafonable creatures.

It appears that it is not without juft caufe, that
this principle of aclion has in all ages been called
reafon^ in oppofition to our animal principles, which
in common language are called by the general name
of the paffions.

The liril not only operates in a calm and cool man-
ner, like rcafon, but im.plies real judgment in all its
operations. The fecond, to wit, the paflions, are
blind delires of fome particular obje(^>, without any
judgment or confideration, whether it be good for
us upon the whole, or ill.

It appears alfo, that the fundamental maxim of

prudence, and of all good morals. That the pafiions

ouo:ht, in all cafes, to be under the dominion of

^ • -

rcafon, is not only felf-evident, when rightly under-

ftood, but is exprefled according to the conunon ufc

and propriety of language.

The contrary maxim maintained by Mr. Humf^
can only be defended by a grois and palpable abule
of words. For, in order to defend it, he muft in-
clude under the paffions^ that very principle which
has always, in all languages, been called reafon^ and
never was, in any language, called a pnjjlon. And
from the meaning of the word rcnfon he nmft ex»
elude the m.oft important piirt of it, by which we
are able to difcern and to purfue what appears to be
good upon the whole. And thus, including the
moil: important part of rcafon under p.dlion, and
making the leaft important part of reafon to be
the whole, he defends his favourite paradox, That
reafon is, and ought to be, the fervant of the paf-
fions.

To judge of what is true or falfe in fpeculative
points, is the olllce of fpeculative reaibn ; and to
judge of what is good or ill for us upon the whole,
is the ofI?ce of practical rcafon. Ot true and talfe
there are no degrees j but of good and ill there are

many

Of regard to our GOOD on the WHOLE. 201

many degrees, and many kinds ; and m.cn are very
apt to form erroneous opinions concerning them ;
niifled by their pafiions, by the authority of the
multitude, and by other caufes.

Wife men, in all ages, liave reckoned it a chief
point of wildom, to make a right ellimate of the
goods and evils of life. I'hoy have laboured to dif-
cover the errors of the multitude on this in^.portant
point, and to warn others againft them.

The ancient moralifts, though divided into {ec\:s,
all agreed in this, That opinion has a mighty influ-
ence upon what we commonly account the goods
and ills of life, to alleviate or to aggravate them.

The Stoics carried this fo far, as to conclude that
they all depend on opinion, ux-jtx. 'tttc'xi).!.,- was a fa-
vourite maxii'U with them.

We lee, indeed, that the fame flation or condition
of life, wliich makes one man happy, makes another
mil'era1,-lo, and to a third is perfeclly indifferent. We
fee men miferablc through life, from vain fears, and
anxious dclires, grounded folely upon wrong opini-
ons. \Vc fee men wear themfelvcs out with toil-
ibme days, and llccplefs nights, in purfuit of fome
objeift which they never attain ; or which, when
attained, gives little fatisfac'tion, perhaps real dif-

1 he evils of life, which every man muft feel, have
a very diflerent efVect upon different men. What
links one into dcl'pair and al^folute iniicry, roufes the
virtue and magnanimity of another, who bears it
as the lot of luimanity, and as the difciplinc of a
wife and merciful father in l;caven. lie rifes fuperior
to adverlity, and is made wifer and better by it, and
confequently happier.

It is therefore of the laft importance, in the con-
duel of life, to have juil opinions with refpecf to
good and evil ; and I'urcly it is the province of reafon
tocorrccf wrong opinions, and to lead Uii into thofe
that are jull ancl true.

2^2. ESSAY III. Chap. II.

It is true indeed, that men's pallions and appetites^
too often draw them to acl contrary to their cool,
judgment and' opinion of what is beft for them.
Viuco mcUora proboquc^ dt'ieriora fcjiior^ is the cafe
in every wilful deviation from our true intereft and
our duty.

When this is the cafe, the man is felf-condemncd,
he fees that he acted the part of a brute, v/hcn he
ought to have acted the part of a man. He is con-
vinced that reafon ought to have reftrained his palli-
on, and to have given therein to it.**

When he feels the bad effects of his conduct, he
imputes them to himfelf, and Vv^ould be ftung with
rcniorfe for his folly, though he had no account to
make to a fuperior being. He has fmned againft him-
felf, and brought upon his own head the punilhment
which his folly deferved.

From this we may fee, that this rational principle
of a regard to our good upon the whole, gives us the
conception of a rigJjt and a wrong in human conduct,
at leaft of a %vife and ^.fooUjlj, It produces a kind of
felf-approbation, v/hen the paffions and appetites are
kept in their due fubjection to it ; and a kind of re-
morfe and compunction, when it yields to them.

In thefe refpects, this principle is fo fimilar to the
moral principle, or confcience, and fo interwoven
with it, that both are commonly comprehended un-
der the name of reafon. This hmilarity led many
of the ancient Philofophers, and fome among the
moderns, to refolve confcience, or a fenfe of duty,
entirely into a regard to what is good for us upon
the whole.

That they are diftinct principles of aclion, though
both lead to the fame conduct in life, I fliall have oc-
cafion to lUew, when \ come to treat of con-
fcience.

CHAP.

The tendency of this PPJNCIPLE. 203

C H A P. ni.

The Tendency of this Principle.

It Ins been the opinion of the wifeil men, in aU
ages, that this principle, of a regard to our good
upon the whole, in a man duly enlightened, leads
to the practice of every virtue.

"This was acknowledged, even by Epicurus ; and
the bcft moralifts among the ancients derived all the
virtues from this principle. For, among them, the
whole of morals was reduced to this queilion, What,
is the greateil good ? Or what courfe of conduct is
beft for us upon the whole ?

In order to refolve this queftion, they divided
goods into three clafles, the goods of the body ; the
goods of fortune, or external goods, and the goods
of the mind ; meaning, by tlie laft, wifdom and
virtue.

Comparing thcfe different claffes of goods, they
fliewed, with convincing evidence, that the goods
of the mind arc, in many rerpc<51s, fuperior to thofe
of the body and of fortune, not only as they have
more dignity, are more durable, and lefs expofed to
the ftrokes of fortune, but chiefly as tl^ey are the
only goods in our power, and which depend wholly
on our conduct.

Epicurus himfclf maintained, that the wife man
may be happy in the tranquillity of his mind, even
when racked with pain, and flruggling with adver-
fity.

'i'hcy obferved very juftly, that the goods of for-
tune, and even thofe of the body, depend much on
opinion ; and that, when our opinion of them is
duly corrected by reafon, wc fliall lind them of fmall
value in themfelves.

How

204 ESSAY III. Chap. III.

How can he be happy who places his happinefs in
thinj^s which it is not in his power to attain, or in
things from which, when attained, a iit of ficknefs,
or a ilrokc of fortune, may tear him afundcr?

The value wc put upon things, and our uncafinefs
in the want of them, depend upon the ftrength of
our defires ; correct the defire, and the uneaiinefs
ceafes.

The fear of the evils of body and of fortune, is
often a greater evil than the things we fear. As the
wife man moderates his defires by temperance, fo,
to real or imaginary dangers, he oppofes the fhield
of fortitude and magnanimity, which raifes him
above himfelf, and makes him happy and triumphant.
in thofe moments wherein others arc moft rnife-
rablc.

Thefe oracles of reafon led the Stoics fo far as to
maintain, That all defires and fears, with regard to
things not in our power, ought to be totally eradi-
cated ; that virtue is the only good ; that what we
call the goods of the body and of fortune, are really
things indifferent, which may, according to circum-
ftances, prove good or ill, and therefore have no
intrinfic goodnefs in themfelves ; that our fole buli-
nefs ought to be, to acb our part well, and to do
what is right, without the ieaft concern about things
not in our power, which we ought, with perfect
acquiefccnce, to leave to the (^are of him who go-
verns the world.

This noble and elevated conception of human
wifdom and duty was taught by Socraths, free
from the extravagancies which the Stoics afterwards
joined with it. We fee it in the Alcibiades of
Plato ; from which Juvknal hath taken it in
his tenth fatirc, and adorned it with the graces ot
poetry.

Omnibus in terrls qux funt a gadibus ufque
Auroram ct Gangcn, nauci dignofccrc pollunt

Vera

The tendency or this PRINCIPLE. 205

Vera bona, at(}uc illis miiltum divcrfa, rcmota
Ilrroris nebula. C>iiid ciiini rationc timemus .?
Aut cupimusPQuid tarn dextera pedc concupis ut te
Conatus non pa'iiiteat, votique pcracli ?
Nil ergo optal)unt homines ? Si concilium vis,
Pcrmitrcs ipfis cxpcndere numinibus, quid
C'onvcniat nobis, rcbufquc fit utile noftris.
Nam pro jucundis aptiflima qua.que dabunt Dii.
Charior eft illis homo quam libi. Nos animorum
Impulfu, et cxxa magnacjuc cupidinc ducli,
Conjugium petimus, partumque uxoris ; at illis
Notum (jui pueri, qualifc^ue futura fit uxor.
Fortem polceanimum, et mortis terrore carentem,
Q\ii fpatium vita; extremum inter munera ponat
Naturae; qui ferre queat quofcunque labores,
Ncfeiat iraici, cupiat niliil, et potiorcs
Herculis cerumnas credat, faevofque labores
Kt venere, et coenis, et plumis, Sardanapali.

Monftro quid ipfe ti!)i poflis dare. Sem.ita certe
Tranquillee per virtutem patet unica vitas.
Nullum numen abeft li lit prudentia ; fed te
Nos facimus fortuna Deam, ca-loquclocamus.

Even Horace, in his ferious moments falls into
this fyllem.

Nil admirari, prope res eft una Numici,
bolaque qux poftit faccrc et fervarc beatum.

We cannot but admire the Stoical fyftem of mo-
rals, even when we think that, in fome points, it
went beyond the pitch of human nature. The vir-
tue, the temperance, the fortitude and mat^nanimity
of fome who fmcerely embraced it, amidft all the
flattery of i'overeign power and the luxury of a
court, will be everlaftintr monuments to the honour
ot that lyftcm, and to the honour of human
nature.

That

.206 L S S A Y Jil. Chap. III.

That a due regard to what is beft for us upon the
whole, in an enlightened mind, leads to the practice
• of every virtue, may be argued from confidering
what we think beft for thofe for \y horn we have the
ftrongeft afi'eclion, and whofc good we tender as our
own. In judging for ourfelves, our paflions and ap-
petites are apt to bias our judgment ; but when we
judg^e for others, this bias is removed, and v/e judge
impartially.

What is it then that a wife man would wifh as the
greatcft good to a brother, a fon, or a friend?

Is it that he may fpend his life in aconftant round
of the plcafurcs of fcnfe, and fare fumptuoufly every
day ?

Nq, furely ; we wifli him to be a man of real
virtue and worth. We may v/ifli for him an ho-
nourable ftation in life ; but only with this conditi-
on, that he acquit himfelf honourably in it, and
acquire juil reputation, by being ufeful to his coun-
try and to mankind. We would a tlioufand times
rather wifh him honourably to undergo the labours
of Hercules, than to dillolve in pleafure with S^r-

DANAPALUS.

Such would be the wifh of every man of under-
flandins: for the friend whom he loves as his own
foul. Such things, therefore, he judges to be beft
for him upon the whole ; and if he judges otherwife
for himfelf, it is only becaufe his judgment is per-
verted by animal paflions and defires.

The fum of .what has been faid in thefc three chap-
ters amounts to this :

There is a principle of a£lion in men that are
^adult and of a found mind, which, in all ages, has
.been called rea/on, and fct in oppofition to the
animal principles which we call the pajfiom. The
•, ultimate objecl of this principle is what we judge to
(be good upon the whole. This is not the objeft of
any oiF our animal principles, they being all directed
jto particular objects, without any comparifon with

others.

The TENDIiNCY of this PRIKCIPLE. acy

Others, or any confidcration-of their being good or
ill upon the whole.

What is good upon the whole cannot even be con-
ceived without the exercife of realbn, and therefose
cannot be an objed to beings that have not fome
degree of reafon.

As foon as \vt have the conception of this objeft,

^\ve are led, -by our conflitution, todefnc and purfue
it. It juiHyclaims a preference to all objects of pur-
fuit tluit can come in competition with it. In pre-
ferring it to any gratification that oppofes it, or in
fubmitting to any pain or mortification which it re-
quires, we aft according to reafon ; and every fuch
action is accompanied with felf-approbation and the
approbation of mankind. The contrary aclions are
accompanied with fliame and felf-condcmnation in
the agent, and with contenipt in the fpeclator, as
foolifh and unreafonable.

Tiie right application of this principle to our con-
duct requires an extertrive profped of human life,
and a cor reel: judgment and eftimateof its goods and

■evils, with relpeit to their intrinfic worth and dig-
nity, their conftancy and duration, and their attain-
ablenefs. He mull be a wife man indeed, if any
fuch man there be, who can perceive, in every in-
ftance, t)r even' in every important inftance, \vhat is
bell for him upon the whole, if he have no other
rule to direct his conduct.

However, according to the beft judgment which
wife men have been able to form, this principle leads
to the practice of every virtue. It leads directly to
the virtues of prudence, temperance and fortitude.

'And, when we conlidcr ourfelves as focial creatures,
whofe happinefs or miiery is very much conneded

'with that of our fcllou-men ; when we confider,
that there are many benevolent alTedions planted in
our conftitulion, whole exertions make a capital
part of our good and enjoyment ; from thefc confi-

'^derations, this principle leads us alfo, though more

indirectlv,

2o3 ESSAY III. Chap. IV.

indiredly, to the practice of juftice, humanity, and
all the focial virtues.

It is true, that a regard to our own good cannot,
of itfelf, produce any benevolent aiTec1:ion. But, if
fuch affections be a part of our conftitution, and if
the exercife of them make a capital part of our hap-
pinefs, a regard to our own good ought to lead us
to cultivate and exercife them, as every benevolent
affeclion makes the good of others to be our own.

CHAP. IV.

Defeds of ibis Principle,

XjLAVING explained the nature of this principle
of action, and fhewn in general the tenor of con-
ducl: to which it leads, I fhall conclude what relates
to it, by pointing out fome of its defecls, if it be
iuppofed, as it has been by fome Philofopher>, to be
the only regulating principle of human conduct.

Upon that fuppofition, it would neither be a fuf-
f]cienily plain rule of con duel, nor would it rai^c the
human character to that degree of perfection of
which it is capable, nor would it yield fo much real
happinefb as when it i,: joined with another rational
principle of adlion, to wit, a dihnterefted regard to
duty.

iirjl, I apprehend the greater part of mankind
can never attain fuch extcnfive views of human life,
and lo correct a judgment of good and ill, as the
right application of this principle requires.

The

DEFECTS OF Til 1 5; PRINCIPLE. 209

The authority of the poet before quoted is of
weight in this point. " Pauci dignofcere poffunt
vera bona, remota crroris nebula." T'hc ignorance
of the bulk of mankind concurs with the llrenn^th
of their paliions to k\id them into error in this moil
important point.

Every man, in his cahn moments, wiflies to know
what is beft for him on the whole, and to do it.
But the diliiculty of difcovering it clearly, amidil
fucli variety of opinions and the importunity of prc-
fent defires, tempt men to give over thefearch, and
to yield to the prefent inclination.

Though Philolophers and moralifts have taken
much laudable pains to correct the errors of man-
kind in this great point, their inftruclions are known
to few ; they have little influence upon the greater
part of thole to \a hom they are known, anci fome-
times little even upon the Philofopher himfelf.

Speculative difcoveries gradually fpread from the
knowing to the ignorant, and diilufe thcmfelves over
all, fo that, with regard to them, the world, it may
be hoped, will ftill be growing wifcr. But the er-
rors of men, with regard to what is truly good or
ill, after being difcovered and refuted in every age,
are flill prevalent.

Men ftand in need of a fliarper monitor to their
duty than a dubious view of diftant good. There
is reafon to believe, that a prefent fcnfe of duty has,
in many cafes, a ilronger iniluence than the appre-
hcnfion of diftant c^ood would have of itfelf. And
It cannot be doubted, that a fenfe of guilt and de-
merit is a more pungent reprover than the bare ap-
prchenfion of having miftaken our true intereft.

The brave foidier, in expofmg himfelf to danger
and death, is animated, not by a cold computai on
of the good and the ill, but by a noble and elevated
fcnfe of military duty.

A Pliilolophcr fhews, by a copious and juft in-
duction, w liAt i:i our real good aaid what our ill.

O But

210 ESSAY III. ' Chap. IV.

But this kind of reafoning is not cafily apprehended
by the bulk of men. It has too little force upon
their minds to rcfift the fophiflry of the palTions.
They are apt to think, that if fuch rules be good
in the general, they may admit of particular excep-
tions, and that what is good for the greater part,
may, to fome perfons, on account of particular cir-
cumftances, be ill.

Thus, I apprehend, that, if we had no plainer
rule to direct our conduct in life than a regard to
our greateft good, the greatcft part of mankind
would be fatally mifled, even by ignorance of the
road to it.

Secondly, Though a fteady purfuit of our own real
good may, in an enlightened mind, produce a kind
of virtue which is entitled to fome degree of ap-
probation, yet it can never produce the nobleil
kind of virtue, which claims our higheft love and
efteem.

We account him a wife man who is wife for him-
felf; and, if he profecutes this end through difQcul-
ties and temptations that lie in his way, his charac-
ter is far fupcrior to that of the man who, having
the fame end in view, is continually ftarting out of
the road to it, from an attachment to his appetites
and pallions, and doing every day what he knows
he fliall heartily reprent.

Yet, after all, this wife man, M'hofe thoughts and
cares are all centered ultimately in himfelf, who in-
dulges even his focial afi'edtions only with a view to
his own good, is not the man whom we cordially
love and efteem.

Like a cunninjr merchant, he carries his s:oods to
the bcft market, and watches every opportunity ot
putting them off to the beft account. He does well
and wifely. But it is for himfelf. We owe him
nothing upon this account. Even when he doc^
good to others, he means only to lerve himfelf; and

therefore

DEFECTS OF THIS PRINCIPLE. 211

therefore has no juft claim to their gratitude or af-
fection.

Tliis furely, if it be virtue, is not the nobleft
kind, but a low and mercenary fpecies of it. It can
neither give a noble elevation to the mind that pof-
felles it, nor attracl the efteem and love of others.

Our cordial love and efteem is due only to the
man whofe foul is not contracted vi'ithin itfelf, but
embraces a more extenfive object : who loves virtue,
not for her dowry only, but for her own fake :
whofe benevolence is not felfifh, but generous and
difintercftcd : who, forgetful of himfelf, has the
common good at heart, not as the means only, but
as tlie end : who abhors what is bafe, though he
were to be a gainer by it, and loves that which is
right, although he fhould futfer by it.

Such a man we efteem the perfect man, compared
with whom, he who has no other aim but good to
liimfclf, is a mean and defpicable character.

Difmterefted goodncfs and rectitude, is the glory
of the Divine Nature, without which he might be
an objeft of fear or hope, but not of true devotion.
And it is the image of this divine attribute in the
human character, that is the glory of man.

To ferve God and be ufeful to mankind, without
any concern about our own good and happinefs, is,
I believe, beyond the pitch of human nature. But
to fcrvc God and be ufeful to men, merely to ob-
tain good to ourfelves, or to avoid ill, is fervility,
and not that liberal fervice which true devotion and
real virtue require.

Thirdly, Though one might be apt to think, that
he has the beft chance for happinefs, who has no
other end of his deliberate anions but Jiis own gv od ;
yet a little conlideralion may fatisfy us of the con-
irar) .

A concern for our own good is not a principle
that, of iifclf, gives any enioynient. On the con-
trary, it is apt to fill the mind with fear, and care,

O 2 and

aia ESSAY HI. Chap. IV.

and anxiety. And thefe concomitants of this prin
ciple, often give pain and uneafinefs, that overba-
lance the good they have in view.

We may here compare, in point of prefent hap-
pincfs, two imaginary characi:ers ; the firft, of the
man who has no other ultimate end of his delibe-
rate actions but lus own good ; and who has no re-
g;n-d to virtue or duty, but as the means to that
end. The fecond chara6ler is that of the man who
is not indifferent with regard to his own good, but
has another ultimate end perfectly conliftcnt with it,
to wit, a difmterefted love of virtue, for its own
fake, or a regard to duty as an end.

Comparing thefe two characters in point of hap-
pinefs, that we may give all pofTible advantage to
the feliifh principle, we fhall fuppofe the man who is
aduated folely by it, to be fo far enlightened as to
fee it his intereft to live foberly, righteoufly, and
godly in the world, and that he follows the fame
courfe of conduct from the motive of his own good
only, which the other does, in a great meafure, or
in fomc meafure, from a fenfe of duty and redlitude*

We put the cafe fo as that the difference between
thefe two perfons may be, not in what they do, but
in the motive from which they do it : and, I think,
there can be no doubt that he who a-Ss from the no-
bleft and moft generous motive, will have moll: hap-
pinefs in his conduct.

The one labours only for hire, without any love
to the work. The other loves the work, and thinks
it the nobleft and molt honourable he can be em-
ployed in. To the iirit, the mortification and felf-
denial which the courfe of virtue requires, is a
grievous talk, which he fubmits to only through
uecelTity. To the other it is victory and triumph,
in the moft honourable warfare.

It ought farther to be confidercd, That although
wile lYitn have concluded that virtue is the only road
to happinefs, this conclulion is founded chiefly upon

the

DEFECTS OI' THIS PRINCIPLE. 213

the natural rcfpccl men have for virtue, and the
good or happincfs that is intrinfic to it and arilbs
from the love ot it. If we fuppofe a man, as we
now do, altogether deftitute of this principle, who
confidered virtue only as the means to another end,
there is no rcalbn to think that lie would ever take
it to be the road to happincfs, but would wander
for ever feeking this object, where it is not to be
found.

'Die road of duty is fo plain, that the man who
feeks it, with an upright heart, cannot greatly deviate
from it. But the road to happinefs, if that be fup-
pofed the only end our nature leads us to purfue,
would be found dark and intricate, full of fnares
and dan>7ers, and therefore not to be trodden with-
out fear, and care, and perplexity.

T'Jie happy man therefore, is not he whofe hap-
pinefs is his only care, but he who, with perfecf re-
iignation, leaves the care of his happinefs to him
who made him, while he purfucs with ardor the
road of his duty.

This givci an elevation to his mind, which is real
liappinefs. infteaci of care, and fear, and anxiety,
and difappointmenf, it brings joy and triumph. It
gives a rclilli to every good we enjoy, and brings
good out of evil.

And as no man can be indifierent about his hap-
pinefs, the good man has the confolation to know,
that he confuits his happinefs moil effectually, when,
without any painful anxiety about future eveuts,
he does his duty.

Tims, I think, it appears. That although a regard
to our good upon the Vv'hole, be a rational principle
in man, yet, if it be fuppofcd the only regulating
principle of our conduct, it would be a more un-
certain rule, it would give far Icfs pcrfet^tion to the
Imman charadtcr, and hir lefs happinefs, than when
joined with another rational principle, to wit, a re-
gard to duty.

CHAP.

214 ESSAY III. Chap. V.

CHAP. V.

Of the Notion of Duty, Rcditude, moral Obligation.

J\ Being endowed with the animal principles of
action only, may be capable of being trained to cer-
tain purpofes by difcipline, as we fee many brute-
animals are, but would be altogether incapable of
being governed by law.

The fubject of law muft have the conception of a
general rule of conduct, which, without fome de-
gree of reafon, he cannot have. He muft likewife
have a fuflicient inducement to obey the law, even
when his ftrongeft animal defires draw him the con-
trary way.

This inducement may be a fenfe of intereft, or a
fenfe of duty, or both concurring.

Thefe are the only principles I am able to con-
ceive, which can reafonably induce a man to regu-
late all his actions according to a certain general rule
or law. They may therefore be juftly called the
rational principles of action, fince they can have no
place but in a being endowed with reafon, and lince
it is by them only, that man is capable cither of po-
litical or of moral government.

Without them human life would be like 3 fhip at
fea without hands, left to be carried by winds and
tides as they happen. It belongs to the rational part
of our nature to intend a certain port, as the end
of the voyage of life ; to take the advantage of
winds and tides when they are favourable, and to
bear up againft them when they are unfavourable.

A fenfe of intereft may induce us to do this, when
a fuitable reward is fet before us. But there is a
nobler principle in the conftitution of man, which,

OF THE NOTION OF D U T Y, &c. 215

in many cafes, gives a clearer and more certain rule
of conduct, than a rei^ard merely to intereft would
giv^e, and a principle, without which man would
not be a moral agent.

A man is prudent when he confults his real inte-
reft, but he cannot be virtuous, if he has no regard
to duty.

1 proceed now to confider this regard to duty as
a rational principle of action in man, and as that
principle alone by which he is capable either of vir-
tue or vice.

1 fhall firft offer fomc obfcrvations with regard to
the general notion of duty, and its contrary, or of
right and wrong in human condud, and then con-
fider how we come to judge and determine certain
things in human conduct to be right, and others to
be wrong.

With regard to the notion or conception of duty,
I take it to be too limple to admit of a logical de-
finition.

\Vc can defme it only by fynonymous words or
phrafes, or by its properties and necelfary conco-
mitants, as when we fay that it is what we ought
to do, what is fair and honeft, what is approveable,
what every man profefles to be the rule of his con-
duel, what all men praife, and what is in itfeif lau-
dable, though no man fhould praife it.

I obferve, in the ficxt place, That the notion of
duty cannot be refolved into that of intereft, or what
what is moft for our happinefs.

Every man may be fatisfied of this who attends to
liis own conceptions, and the language of all man-
kind fliews it. When I lay, this is my intereft, I
mean one thing ; when I fay, it is my duty, I mean
another thing. And though the fame courfe of ac-
tion, when rightly underilood, may be both mv
duty and my intereft, the conceptions are very dif-
ferent. Both are reafonable motives to action, but
(}uile dlflinct in their nature.

1 pre-

2i6 ESSAY III. Chap. V.

1 prefume it will be granted, that in every man
of real worth, there is a principle of honour, a re-
gard to what is honourable or difhonourablc, very
diftinct from a regard to his intcrcft. It is folly in
a man to difregard his intereO:, but to do what is
diflionourable is bafenefs. The firft may move our
pity, or, in fome cafes, our contempt, but the laft ,
provokes our indignation. f

As thefe two principles arc different in their na-
ture, and not refolvable into one, fo the principle ,
of honour is evidently fupcrior in dignity to that of |
intercft.

No man would allow him to be a man of honour,
who fliould plead his intereft to juftify what he ac-
knowledged to be diihonourable ; but to facrifice J
intereft to honour never cofts a blufh. i

It likewife will be allowed by every man of ho-
nour, that this principle is not to be refolved into a J
regard to our reputation among men, otherwife the i
man of honour would not deferve to be trufted in
the dark. He would have no avcrfion to lie, or j
cheat, or play the coward, when he had no dread ^
of being difcovered.

I take it for granted, therefore, that every man j
of real honour feels an abhorrence of certain aclions, '
becaufe they are in themfelves bafe, and feels an ob-
ligation to certain other adions, becaufe they are in i
themfelves what honour requires, and this, inde- \
pendently of any conlideration of intercft or repu-
tation.

This is an immediate moral obligation. This prin-
ciple of honour, which is acknowledged by all men
who pretend to character, is only another name for
what we call a regard to duty, to rectitude, to pro-
priety of conduci. It is a moral obligation which J
obliges a man to do certain things becaufe they are '
right, and not to do other things becaufe they are
wronGT.

Alk

OF THE NOTION OF D U T Y, &c. 217

Alk the man of honour, why he thinks himfell:
oblipjcd to p;iy a debt of honour ? 1 he very queltion
ftiocks liim. To I'uppofc that he needs any other in-
ducement to do it but tiic principle of honour, b to
lujipofc that he has no honour, no worth, and de-
ferves no ellcem.

'I'licre is therefore a principle in man, which, when
he acls according to it, gives him a confcioufncfs of
worth, and when he acts contrary to it, a Icnfe of
demerit.

From the varieties of education, of fafhion, of
prcjuiliccs, and of liabits, men may difler much in
opinion with regard to the extent of this principle,
and of what it commands and forbids ; but the no-
tion of it, as far as it is carried, is the fame in all.
It is that which gives a man real worth, and is the
object of moral approbation.

Men of rank call it honour, and too often confine
it to certain virtues that are thought mofl eli'ential
to their rank. The vulgar call it hunejly, probity, vir-
iia\ confcicncc. Philofophcrs have given it the names
of the moral fcnfc, the moral faculty, rctViiude.

The univerfality of this principle in m.cn that arc
grown up to years of underftanding and rcHcclion,
is evident. The words that cxprcfs it, the names
of the virtues which it conmiands, and of the vices
which it forbids, the ^5//'^/'/ and cvi;/?/;;;// which exprefs
its dictates, make an ellcntial part of every language.
The natural aft'edlions of relpect to worthy charac-
ters, ofrefentment of injuries, of gratitude for fa-
vours, of indignation againil the worthlcfs, are parts
ot the human conltitution which fuppofe a right and
a wrong in conduct. Many tranfaclions that arc
tound neccflary in the rutloli focictics go upon the
fame I'uppofition. In all tcftimony, in all promifes,
and in all contrails, there is necelfarily implied a
moral oi)ligation on one party, and a trull in the
other, grounded upon this obligation.

The

2i8 ESSAY III. Chap. V.

The variety of opinions among men in points of
morality, is not greater, but, as I apprehend, much
lefs than in fpeculativc points ; and this variety is as
calily accounted for, from the common caufes of er-
ror, in the one cafe as in the other ; fo that it is not
more evident, that there is a real diftindtion between
true and falfe, in matters of fpeculation, than that
there is a real diftinclion between ri^ht and wrono:
in human conduct.

Mr. Mumr's authority, if there were any need of
it, is of weight in this matter, becaufe he was not
wont to go rafhly into vulgar opinions.

" Thofe, fays he, who have denied the reality of
" moral diftincfions, may be ranked among the dif-
" ingenuous difputants (who really do not believe
" the opinions they defend, but engage in the con-
" troverfy, from affectation, from a Ipirit of oppo-
*' lition, or from a defire of (liewing wit and inge-
*' nuity fuperior to the reft of mankind) ; nor is it
" conceivable, that any human creature could ever
" feriouQy believe, that all characters and actions
" were alike entitled to the regard and aifcction of
" every one.

" Let a man's infenfibility be ever fo great, he
" muft often be touched with the images of right
*' and wrong ; and let his prejudices be ever fo ob-
" (tinate, he muft obferve that others are fufceptible
" of like impreiiions. The only way, therefore,
" of convincing an antagonift of this kind is to
" leave him to himfclf. For, finding that nobody
" keeps up the controverfy with him, it is probable
" he will at laft, of himfclf from mere wearinefs,
" come over to the fide of common fcnfe and rea-

What we call right and honourable .m human con-
du.^t, was, by the ancients, called /jowf/?//;//, ro jt«A<)\;
of which TuLLY lays, " Qiiod vere dicimus, ctiamfi
a nuiio laudctur, natura cile laudabile."

All

OF THE NOTION OF D U T Y, &c. 219

All the ancient feels, except the Epicureans, dif-
tinguifhed the honcjlum from tlic utile^ as we diftin-
guifh what is a man's duty from what is his in-
tercil.

The word offlcium^ Kui7,Koiy extended both to the
honejlum and the utile \ So that every reafonable ac-
tion, proceeding either from a fenfe of duty or a
fenfe of intereft, was called officium. It is defined by
CicKRO to be, " Id quod cur factum fit ratio pro-
babilis rcddi potefl." We commonly render it by
the word J^/v, but it is more extenfive ; for the word
duty^ in the Englifli lanp;uage, I think, is commonly
applied only to what the ancients called honcjium.
Cicero, and Pan^etius before him, treating of of-
fices, firft point out thofe that are grounded upon
the honcjluni^ and licxt thofe that are grounded upon
the utile.

The moft ancient philofophical fyftem concerning
the principles of action in the human m.ind, and, I
think, the moll agreeable to nature, is that which
we find in fome fragments of the ancient Pythago-
reans, and which is adopted by Plato, and explain-
ed in fome of his dialogues.

According to this fyftem, there is a leading prin-
ciple in the foul, which, like the fupreme power in
a commonwealth, has authority and right to go-
vern. This leading principle they called rcafon. It
is that which dlftinguiflies men that are adult from
brutes, idiots and infants. The inferior principles,
which are under the authority of the leading princi-
ple, are our pafllons and appetites, which we have
in common \\ith the brutes.

Cicero adopts this fyftem, and exprcffes it well in
few words. " Duplex enim ell vis animorum atque
" naturae. Una pars in appctitu polita eft, quas
" homincm hue et illuc rapit, qureeft ^^^li grasce, al-
*' tcra in ratione, qua- docet, et explanat quid faci-
" endum fugiendumvc fit. Ita fit ut ratio pra^fit ap-
" pctitus obtempcret.'*

This

220 ESSAY m. Chap. V.

This divifion of our active principles can hardly
indeed be accounted a difcovery ol- philofophy, be-
oufe it has been common to the unlearned in all
ages of the world, and feems to be di^ftated by the
common fenfe of mankind.

What I would now obferve concerning this com-
mon diviiion of oar a-flive powers, is, that the lead-
ing principle, which is called reofon^ comprehends
both a regard to what is right and honourable, and
a regard to our happinefs upon tlie whole.

Although thefe be really two dilHncI principles of
af^tion, it is very natural to comprehend them under
one name, becaufe both are leacling principles, both
fuppofe the ufe of reafon, and, when rightly under-
flood, both lead to the fame courfe of life. They are
like two fountains whofe flreams unite and rut^ in
the fame channel.

When a man, on one occafion, confults his real
happinefs in things not inconfiftent with his duty,
though in oppofition to the folicitation of appctile
or pailion ; and when, on another occafion, with-
out any felfiih confideration, he does what is right
and honourable, becaufe it is fo ; in both cafes, he
acls reafonably ; every man approves of his condud:,
and calls it reafonable, or according to reafon.

So that, when we fpeak of reafon as a principle of
aclioii in man, it includes a regard both to the honcf-
ium and to the iilile. Both are combined under one
uanie ; and accordingly the dictates of both, in
the Latin tongue, were combined under the name
offidum^ and in the Greek under y.x('Y.r.oy.

If we examine the abflrad notion of duty, or m.o-
ral obligation, it appears to be neither any real qua-
lity of the action conlidcred by itfelf, nor of the
agent confidered without refpect to the action, but
a certain relation bctu'cen the one and the other.

When we fay a man ought to do fuch a thing, the
ou^bt^ Vxhich cxprclTes the moral obligation, has a
reiped, on the one hand, to the pcrfon who ought,

and.

OF THE NOTION OF D U T Y, c^cc. 221

and, on the other, to the adion which he ought to
do. Thole two correlates are cllential to every mo-
ral obligation ; take away either, and it has no ex-
igence. So that, it" we leek the place of moral obli-
jration among the categories, it belongs to the cate-
gory of rc/diion.

There are many relations of things, of wliich w^e
have the moil dillincl conception, without being
able to defme them logically. Equalilyand propor-
tion are relations between quantities, which every
man underilands, but no man can define.

Moral obligation is a relation of its own kind,
which every man underlbmds, but is perliaps too
fmiple to admit of logical definition. Like all other
relations, it may be changed or annihilated by a
change in any of the two related things, I mean the
agent or the action.

Perhaps it may not be im. proper to point out brief-
ly the circumllances, both in the action and in the
agent, which are neceilary to conftitute moral obli-
gation. Ihe univerlal agreement of men in thefe,
lliews that they have one and the fame notion of it.

With regard to the action, it muil: be a voluntary
acftion, or preftation of the perlbn obligeci, and not
of another. 'I'here can be no moral oblio-ation upon

a man to be fix feet high. Nor can I be under a mo-
ral obligation that another perfon fhould do fuch a
thing, liis aclions muft be imputed to himfelf, and
mine only to me, either for praile or blame.

I need hardly mention, that a perfon can be un-
der a moral obligation, only to things within the
fphere of his natural power.

As to the party obliged it is evident, there can be
no moral obligation upon an inaiiimalc thing. To
fpeak of niorai ol)ligation upon a Itone or a tree is ri-
diculous, becaufe it contradicts every man's notion
of moral obligation.

The perfon obliged mufl: have underftanding and
will, and fome degree of active power, lie mull

not

322 ESSAY Iir. Chap. VI.

not only have the natural faculty of underftanding,
but the means of knowino; his oblio-ation. An in-
vincible ignorance of this deftroys all moral obli-
gation.

The opinion of the agent in doing the a6lion gives
it its moral denomination. If he does a materially
good action, without any belief of its being good,
but from fome other principle, it is no good action
in him. And if he does it with the belief of its be-
ing ill, it is ill in him.

Thus, if a man fliould give to his neighbour a
potion which he really believes will poifon him, but
which, in the event, proves falutary, and does much
good ; in moral ellimation, he is a poifoner, and not
a benefactor.

Thefe qualifications of the action and of the agent,
in moral obligation, are felf-evident ; and the agree-
ment of all men in them {hows, that all men have
the fame notion and a diftinci notion of m.oral ob-
ligation.

CHAP. VI.

Of the Senfe cf Duty.

vVf, are next to confider, how we learn to judge
and determine, that this is right, and that is wrong.
The abftract notion of moral good and ill would
be of no ufe to direct our life, if we had not the
power of applying it to particular actions, and de-
termining what is morallv good, and what is mo-
rally ill.

Some

OF THE SENSE OF DUTY. 223

Some Pliilofophcrs, with whom I agree, afcribe
this to an origiual power or faculty in man, which
they call the inoral J't'nft\ the moral faculty, confcience.
Others think, that our moral fcntiments may be ac-
counted for witliout fuppoling any original I'enfe or
faculty appropriated to that purpofe, and go into
very diflcrent fyftems to account for them.

1 am not, at prefcnt, to take any notice of thofe
fyftems, becaufe the opinion lirft mentioned feems
to mc to be the truth, to wit. That, by an original
power of the mind, when we come to years of un-
dcrilanding and refledion, we not only have the
notions of right and wrong in conduct, but perceive
certain things to be right, and otliers to be wrong.

l"hc name of the 7noral fenfe, though more fre-
quently given to confcience lince Lord Shaftes-
bury and Dr. IIutcheson wrote, is not new. The
fcfifus rccli et honcjii is a phrafe not unfrequent among
the ancients, neither is the fcnfe of duty among us.

It has got this name of ftnfe, no doubt, from
fome analogy which it is conceived to bear to the
external fenfes. And if we have juft notions of the
oilice of the external fenfes, the analogy is very evi-
dent, and 1 fee- no reafon to take otience, as fqme
have done, at the name of the moral fcnfc.

The otfence taken at this name feems to be ow-
ing to this, That Philofophers have degraded the
fcnles too much, and deprived them of the moil
important part of their ouice.

We are taught, that, by the fenfes, we have only

certain ideas which we could not have otlierwile.

They are reprcfentcd as powers by which we have

fer.lations and ideas, not as [Xiwers by which we

judge.

'1 his notion <\t the fenfes I take to be very lame,
and to contradict what nature and accurate refledtiou
icacli concerning them.

A man who has totally loft the fenfe of feeing,
may rcUin very dilliuct notions of the various co-
lours ;

224 E S S A Y III. Chap. VI.

lours ; but he cannot judge of colours, bccaufe he
has loft the fenfc by which alone he could judge. By
my eyes I not only have the ideas of a fquare and a
circle, but I perceive this furface to be a fquare, that
to be a circle.

By my ear, I not only have the idea of founds,
loud and foft, acute and grave, but I immediately
perceive and judge this found to be loud, that to
Jbe foft, this to be acute, that to be grave. Two or
more Synchronous founds I perceive to be concord-
ant, others to be difcordant.

Thefe are judgments of the fenfes. They have
always been called and accounted fuch, by thofc
whofe minds are not tinctured by philofophical the-
ories. They are the immediate teftimony of nature
by our fenfes ; and wc are fo conftitutcd by nature,
that we muft receive their teftimony, for no other
reafon but becaufe it is given by our fenfes.

In vain do Sceptics endeavour to overturn this
evidence by metaphyfical reafoning. Though wc
fhould not be able to anfwcr their arguments, we
believe our fenfes ftiil, and reft our moft important
concerns upon their teftimony.

If this be a juft notion of our external fenfes, as
I conceive it is, our moral faculty may, I think,
without impropriety, be called x\\q. moral fcnfe.

In its dignity it is, without doubt, far fuperior
to every other power of the mind ; but there is this
analogy between it and the external fenfes. That, as
by them we have not only the original conceptions
of the various qualities of bodies, but the original
judgments that this body has fuch a quality, that
fuch another ; fo by our moral faculty, we ha-e
both tlie original conceptions of right and wrong in
condutl, of merit and demerit, and the original
judgments that this conduft is right, that is wrong ;
that this character has wortli, that, demerit.

The teftimony of our moral faculty, like that of
the external fenfes, is the teftimony of nature, and
we have the fame reafon to rely upon it.

The

OF THE SENSE OF DUTY. 225

The truths immedicitely tcGified by the external
fei.fcs arc the firll principles from whi(.h we reaibn,
willi regard to the material world, and from which
all our knowledge of it is deduced.

The truths immediately tellihed by our moral fa-
culty, are the liril principles of all moral reafoning,
from which all our knowledge of our duty mufi be
deduced.

By moral reafoning, I underftand all reafoning
that is brought to prove that fuch conduct is right,
and deferving of moral approbation, or that it is
wrong, or that it is indifferent, and, in itfelf, nei-
ther morally good nor ill.

I think, all we can properly call moral judgments
are reducible to one or other of thefe, as all human
actions, confidcred in a moral view, are either good,
or bad, or indifferent.

I know the term ?noral reafoning is often ufed by
good writers in a more extenlive fenfe ; but as the
reafoning I now fpeak of is of a peculiar kind, dif-
tindl from all others, and therefore ought to have a
difhinft name, I take the liberty to limit the name
ot 7noral reafoning to this kind.

Let it be underftood therefore, that in the reafon-
ing I call morale the conclufion always is. That fomc-
thingr in the conduct of moral a'^ents is Gfood or bad,
in a greater or a lefs degree, or indifferent.

All reafoning muff be grounded on lirft principles.
This holds in moral reafoning;, as in all other kinds.
There muff therefore be in morals, as in all other
fciences, firft or felf-evident principles, on which all
moral reafoning is grounded, and on which it ulti-
mately rells. From fuch felf-evident principles, con-«
clufions may be drawn fynthetically with regard to
the moral conduiit of life ; and particular duties or
virtues may be traced back to fuch principles, analy-
tically. But, without fuch principles, we can no
more eftablifh any conclufion in morals, than we can,
build a caftle in the air, without any foundation.

F An

22^ E S S A Y m. Chap. VI.

An example or two will ferve toiliuftrate this.

It is a firft principle in morals, I'hat we ought not
t® do to another, what we fliould think wrong to be
done to us in like circumftances. If a man is not
capable of perceiving this in his cool moments, when
he reflects ferioufly, he is not a moral agent, nor is
he capable of being convinced of it by reafoning.

From what topic can you rcafon with fuch a man ?
You may poflibly convince him by reafoning, that
it is his intereft to obferve this rule ; but this is not
to convince him that it is his duty. To reafon about
juftice with a man who fees nothing to be juft or un-
juft ; or about benevolence with a man who fees no-
thing in benevolence preferable to malice, is like
reafonins: with a blind man about colour, or with a
deaf man about found.

It is a queftion in morals that admits of reafoning.
Whether, by the law of nature, a man ought to
have only one wife ?

We reafon upon this queftion, by balancing the
advantages and difadvantages to the family, and to
fociety in general, that are naturally confequent
both upon monogamy and polygamy. And if it
can be fhewn that the advantages are greatly upon
the fide of monogamy, we think the point is de-
termined.

But, if a man does not perceive that he ought to
regard the good of fociety, and the good of his
wife and children, the reafoning can have no effect
upon him, becaufe he denies the firft principle upon
which it is grounded.

Suppofe again, that we reafon for monogamy
from the intention of nature, difcovered by the pro-
portion of males and of females that are born ; a
proportion which correfponds perfectly with mono-
gamy, but by no means with polygamy. This ar-
gument can have no weight with a man who docs
not perceive that he ought to have a regard to the
intention of nature.

Thus

OF THE SENSE OF DUTY. 227

Thus wc fliiiU find tliat ail moral reafoninc-.s vcii
1 • • 1
upon one or more hrlt principrjs vt morals, whole

truth is immediately perceived without rcafoning,
by all men come to years of underilanding.

And this inticcd is common to every branch of
human knowledge that defervcs the name of fcicncc.
There muft be firll: principles proper to that fcicncc,
by which the whole fupcritructurc is fupported.

The firfl principles of all the fciences, muft be the
immediate dictates of our natural faculties ; nor is
it pofTible that we fhould have any other evidence of
tJieir truth. And in different fciences the faculties
which dictate their firll principles are very different.
Thus, in aitronomy and in optics, in which fuch
wonderful difcoveries have been made, that the un-
leariicd can hardly believe them to be within the
reach of human capacity, the firft principles are phns-
iiomena attefted folely by that little organ, the im-
man eye. If we dilbelieve its report, the w^hole of
thofe two noble fabrics of fcience, falls to pieces like
the viffons of the night.

The principles of muffc all depend upon the teffl-
mony of the ear. The principles of natural philofo-
phy, upon the facts attefficd by the fenfes. The
principles of mathematics, upon the neceffary rela-
tions of quantities confidered abftraclly, fuch as,
Tliat equal quantities added to equal quantities make
equal funis, and the like ; which necclTary relations
are immediately perceived by the underffanding.

The fcience of politics borrows its principles from
what we know by experience of the character and
conduct of man. We confi.der not what he ouijht
to be, but what he is, and thence conclude what
part he will aeH in different fftuatious and circum-
ftances. From fuch principles we reafon concerning
the caufes and effects of different forms of govern-
ment, laws, cuffoms, and manners. If man were
cither a more perfed or a more imperfed, sl. better

P 2 ur

228 ESSAY III. Chap. VI.

or a u'orfc creature than he is, politics would be a
different fciencc from what it is.

7'he firft principles of morals are the immediate
dictates of the moral faculty. They fliew us, not
what man is, but what he ought to be. Whatever
is immediately perceived to be juft, honeft, and
honourable, in human conduct, carries moral obli-
gation along with ' it, and the contrary carries de-
merit and blame ; and, from thofe moral obligati-
ons that are immediately perceived, all other moral
obligations mul^ be deduced by reafoning.

He that will judge of the colour of an obje6^,
muft confult his eyes, in a good light, when there is
no medium or contiguous objccis that may give it a
falfe tinge. But in vain will he confult every other
faculty in this matter.

In like manner, he that will judge of the firft
principles of marals, muft confult his confcience, or
moral faculty, when he is calm and difpailionate,
unbiafled by intereft, affection, or fafliion.

As we rely upon the clear and diftincl teftimony
of our eves, concerninir the colours and fissures of
the bodies about us, we have the fame reafon to re-
ly with fecurity upon the clear and unbiaffed tefti-
mony of our confcience, with regard to what we
ou:xht and ouo^ht not to do. In manv cafes, moral
worth and demerit are difcerned no lefs clearly by
the laft of thofe natural faculties, than figure and
colour by the firft.

The faculties which nature hath given us, are the
only engines we can ufe to find out the truth. We
cannot indeed prove that thofe faculties are not fal-
lacious, unlefs God fhould give us new faculties to
lit in judgment upon the old. But we are born
under a necefiity of trufting them.

Every man in his fcnfcs believes his eyes, his ears,
and his other fenfes. Kc believes his confcioufnefs
with refpecl to his own thoughts and purpofes, his
memory, with regard to what is paft, his undcr-
ftanding, with regard to abftrad relations of things,

and

OF MORAL APPROBATION, b*.-. iz<)

and his tafte, with rcp;'ard to v/hat is ek^gant and
hcMUlii'ul. And lie lias th.e fame rejl'nn, and, indeed,
is under tlie lame neccflity ot bclievin.^ the clear and
unbiafi'ed dictates of his confcience, with regard to
what is honourable and what is bafe.

'I'he funi of what has been laid in this chapter is,
Tint, by an original power of the mind, which wc
call confcicu':':, or ilia moral faca'fy^ we have the con-
ceptions of right and wrong in human conduCL, of
merit and demerit, of duty and moral obligation, and
our other moral conceptions ; and that, by the fame
faculty, we perceive fomc things in human condudl
to be right, and others to be wrong ; that the firft
principles of morals are the dictates of this faculty ;
and that wc have the fame rcafon to rely upon thofc
dictates, as upon the determination'j of our fenfes,
or of our other natural faculties.

C II A P. VII.

Of moral Approbation and Difapprobation.

KjVR. moral judgments arc not like thofe w^e form
in fpcculative matters, dry and unaffecting, but,
from their nature, arc ncccifarily accompanied with
afle6\ions and feelings ; which wc arc now to con-
fid er.

It was before obferved, that every human acT;ion,
confidcred in a moral view, appears to us good, or
bad, or indifl'crent. When we judge the action to
be inditlcrent, neither good nor bad, though this be
a moral judgment, it produces no afl'cdtion nor feel-
ing, any more than our iudgmcnts in fpcculative
n;attcrs.

But

2 30 ESSAY III. Chap. VII.

But we approve of good a(flions, and difiipprove
of bad ; and this approbation and difapprobation,
when wc analyfe it, appears to include, not only a
moral judgment of tlie aftion, but fome affedion,
favourable or unfavourable, towards the agent, and
fome feeling in ourfelves.

Nothing is more evident than this. That moral
worth, even in a ftranger, with whom Vx-e have not
the leafl: connexion, never fails to produce fome de-
gree of efteem mixed with good will.

The efteem which we have for a man on account
of his moral worth, is different from that which is
grounded upon his intelledlual accomplifliments, his
birth, fortune, and conned-ion with us.

Moral worth, M'hen it is not fet oflF by eminent
abilities, and external advantages, is like a diamond
in the mine, which is rough and unpolifhed, and
perhaps crufted over with fome bafer m.aterial that
takes away its luflre.

But, when it is attended with thefe advantages,
it is like a diamond cut, polifhed, and fet. Then its
luflre attracts every eye. Yet thefe things which
add fo much to its appearapce, add but little to its
real value.

We mufl farther obferve, that efteem and bene-
volent regard, not only accompany real worth by
the conftitution of our nature, but are perceived to
be really and properly due to it ; and that, on the
contrary, unworthy conduct really merits difiike
and indignation.

There is no judgment of the heart of man more
clear, or more irrefiftible, than this, That efteem
and regard arc really due to good condud, and the
contrary to bafe and unworthy condud. Nor cau
we conceive a greater depravity in the heart of man,
than it would be to fee and acknowledge worth with-
out feeling any refpecl to it ; or to fee and acknow-
ledge the highefl worthlcfTnefs without any degree
of diflike and indignation.

The

OF MORAL APPROBATION, ^V. 231

The cfteem that is due to worthy conduct, is not
IciTcncd when a man is conicious ot it in himielf.
Nor can he help having feme cftecm for himfelf,
when lie is conicious of thofe qualities for which he
moft highly ellecnis others.

Sclf-cfteem, grounded upon external advantages,
or the girts of fortune, is pride. When it is ground-
ed upon a vain conceit of inward worth which we
do not poflefs, it is arrogance and fclf-dcccit. But
when a man, without thinking of hin:felf more
highly than he ought to thiniv, is confcious of that
integrity of heart, and uprightnefs of condud,
which he moft highly erteems in others, and values
himfelf duly upon tliis account ; this perhaps may
be called the pride of virtue, but it is not a vicious
pride. It is a noble and magnanimous diipolition,
without which there can be no fteady virtue.

A man who has a character with himfelf, which
he values, will difdain to acl in a manner unworthy
of it. The language of his heart will be like that of
Job, " My rightcoufnefs I hold faft, and will not
*' let it go; my heart (hall not reproach me while
" I live.''

A good man owes much to his chara^cr with the
wOrlci, and will be concerned to vindicate it from
unjuft imputations. But lie owes much more to his
character with himfelf. For if his heart condemns
him not, he has confidence towards God; and he
can more cafily bear the lafli of tongues than the
reproach of his own mind.

The fenfc of honour, fo much fpokcn of, and fo
often mifapplied, is nothing elfe, v/hen rightly un-
derflood, but the difdain \Vhich a man of worth
feels to do a dilhonoura'Dle a.i(ion, though it fliould
never be known nor fufpccted.

A good man will have a n>uch greater abhorrence
againit doing a bad action, than even againll having
it unjufHy imputed to him. 'J he laft may give a
wound to his reputation, but the firft giv^s a wound

232 ESSAY m. Chap. Vn.

to his confcience, which is more difficult to heal,
and more painful to endure.

Let us, on the other hand, confidcr how we are
affedted by difapprobation, either of the conduct of
others, or of our own.

Every thing wc difapprove in the conduct of a
man leffens him in our efteem. There are indeed
brilliant faults, which, havins; a mixture of f^(»od
and ill in them, may have a very different afped,
accordinG: to the fide en which we view them.

In fuch faults of our friends, and much more of
ourfelves, we are difpofcd to view them on the beft
fide, and on the contrary fide in thofe to whom we
are ill atiecled.

This partiality, in taking things by the beft or by
the worft handle, is the chief caufe of wrong judg-
ment with regard to the character of others, and of
felf-deceit with regard to our own.

But when we take complex actions to pieces.and
view every part by itfelf, ill condud of every kind
leffens our efteem of a man, as much as good con-
duct increafes it. It is apt to turn love into indif-
ference, indifference into contempt, and contempt
into averfion and abhorrence.

When a man is confcious of immoral conduct in
himfelf, it lefl'ens his felf-efteem. It depreil'es and
humbles his fpirit, and makes his countenance to
fall. He could even punifli himfelf for his mifbe-
liaviour, if that could v/ipe out the fiain. 1 here
is a fenfe of diflionour and worthleffnefs ariiing from
guilt, as well as a fenfe of honour and worth ariiing
from worthy conduct. And this is the cafe, even
if a man could conceal his Gjuilt from all the world.
We are next to confider the agreeable or uneafy
feelings, in the breaft of the fpeclator or judge,
which naturally accompany moral approbation and
difapprobation.

There is no affection that is not accompanied with
fome agreeable or uneafy emotion. It has often been

obferved,

OF MORAL APT ROB AT ION, ts'c. 233

nbfcrved, that all the benevolent affcctionr, give
pleai'ure, and the contrary cnei; pain, in ouc degree
or another.

■\Vhen v.-e contemplate a noble characler, though
hut in ancient hiftory, or even in fiction ; like a
l)cautiful objecl:, it gives a lively and pleal'ant emo-
tion to the i'pirits. It warms the heart, and iiivi-
p;oratts the v/hole frame. Like the beams of the
fun. it enlivens the face of nature, and ditTufes heat
and lipjht all around.

Vv'e feel a fympathy with every noble and worthy
characler that is reprefented to us. We rejoice in
};:> profpcrity, we are afllit^ied in his diftrefs. We
even catch fome fparks of that ccleftial fire that ani-
mated his conduct, and feel the glow of his virtue
and magnanimity.

This fympathy is the necelTary efted of our judg-
ment of his conduct, and of the approbation and
eilecm due to it ; for real fympathy is always the
cficci of fome benevolent ailection, iuch as efteem,
love, pity or humanity.

When the pcrfon whom we approve is connected
v/ith us by acquaintance, friendfliip or blood, the
plcafure we derive from his conduci is greatly in-
crcafcd. We claim fom.e property in his worth, and
are apt to value ourfelves on account of it. This
{hews a ftrongcr degree of fympathy, which gathers
f*^rcngth from every focial tie.

But the higheil: plcafure of all is, Avhcn we arc
confcious of good conducl in ourfelves. This, in
i'acred fcripture, is called the icjUnicny of a good con-
fcience ; and it is reprefented, not only in the facred
writings, but in the writings of all moralifts, of
every age and feci, as the pureil:, the moil noble and
valuable of ail human enjoyments.

Surely, were we to place the chief happinefs of
this life (a thing that has been fo much fought after)
in any one kind of enjoyment, that which arifes
from the conicioufneis of integrity, and a uniform
endeavour to act; the bell: part in our (lation, would

molt

234 ESSAY III. Chap. VII.

moil juftly daim the preference to all other enjoy-
ments the human mind is capable of, on account of its
di^rrnity, the intenfeneis of the happinefs it affords,
its iVability and duration, its being in our power, and
itsbeincr proof accainfi; all accidents of timeand fortune.

On the other hand, the view of a vicious charac-
ter, like that of an ugly and deformed object:, is dif-
agreeable. It gives difguft and abhorrence.

if the unworthy perfon be nearly connected with
us, we have a very painful fympathy indeed. Vv^e
blufh even for the fmalier faults of thofe v/e are con-
nected with, and feel ourfelves, as it were, difho-
r.oured by their ill condudl.

But, when there is a high degree of depravity in
any perfon connected with us, we are deeply humbled
and deprefi'ed by it. The fympathetic feeling has
feme refemblance to that of guilt, though it be free
from all guilt. We are afhamed to fee our acquain-
tance ; we would, if poflible, difclaim :\il connection
with the guilty perfon. We wiih to tear him from
our hearts, and to blot him out of our remembrance.

Time, however, alleviates thofe fympathetic for-
rows which arife from bad behaviour in our friends
and connections, if wc are confcious that we had no
ihare in their guilt.

The wifdom of God, in the conftitution of our
nature, hath intended, that this fymp.uhetic diftrefs
ihould intereil us the more deeply in the good bclia-
viour, as well as in the good fortune of our friends ;
and that thereby friendihip, relation and every fo-
ci;il tie, fiiould be aiding to virtue and unfavourable
to vice.

How common is it, even in vicious parents, to be
deeply aflli<^led when their children go into thofe
couries in which perhaps they have gone before them,
and, by their example, ihewn them the way!

If bad conduct in tliote in whom we are interefted,
be uncafy and painful, it is fo much more when v>e
arc confcious of it in ourfelves. This uneafy feeling
has a name in all iangaages. We call it renwfe.

OF MORAL APPROBATION, ^5*^. 235

It has been dcfcribed in fuch frighlful colours by-
writers facrcd and profane, by writers of every age*
and of every perfuafion, even by Epicureans, that I
will not attempt the dcfcription of it.

It i^ on account of the unealincfs of this feeling,
that bad men take fo much pains to get rid of it, and
to iiide, even from their own eyes, as much as poC-
liblc, the pravity of their conduct. Hence arifc all
the arts of felf-dcceit, by which men varnifh their
crimes, or endeavour to wafh out the llain of guilt,
iicncc the various methods of expiatioii which fuper-
ftition has invented, to folace the confcience of the
criminal, and give fom.e cooling to his parched breaft.
Iicncc alfo arifc, very often, the effort,^ of men of
bad hearts to excel in fome amiable quality, which
may be a kind of counterpoife to their vices, both
in the opinion of others and in their own.

For no man can bear the thou^^ht of beinof abfo-
iutely deflitute of all worth. The confcioufnefs of
this v.ould make him detcft himfelf, hate the light of
the fun, and fly, if poflible, out of exiftence.

1 have now endeavoured to delineate the natural
operations of that principle of action in man, which
\\e call the moral fcujc^ the moral fa cult)' ^ co?ifciencc.
We know nothing of our natural faculties, but by
their operations within us. Of their operations in
our own minds, we are confcious, and we fee the
figns of their operations in the minds of others. Of
this faculty the operations appear to be, the judging
ultimately of what is right, what is wrong, and
what is indiiTcrent in the conduct of moral agents ;
the approbation of good condu6l and difapprobation
of bad in confcqucnce of that judgment, and the
agreeable emotions which attend obedience, and
diiagreeablc which attend difobcdicncc to its dit^atcs.

The Supreme Being, who has given us eyes to
difccrn what may be ufcful and what hurtful to our
natural life, hath alfo given us this light within to
^ired our moral coudud.

Moral

t3^ ESSAY III. C.iAP.VII.

Moral conduct is the bufinefs of every man ; and
therefore the knowledge of it ought to be within the
reach of all.

Epicurus reafoned acutely and jufdy to fliew, that
a regard to our prefcnt happinefs fliould induce us
to the praftice of temperance, juftice and humanity.
But the bulk of mankind cannot follow long trains
of reafoning. The loud voice of the pafTions drownj
the calm and ftill voice of rcafoning.

Confcience command;! and forbids with more au-
thority, and in the moft common and moft impor-
tant points of conducf^, without the labour of rea-
foning. Its voice is heard by every man, and can-
not be difregarded with impunity.

The fenfe of guilt makes a man at variance \\ itli
himfelf. Ke fees that he is what he ought not to be.
He has fallen from the dignity of his nature, and has
fold his real worth for a thing of no value. He is
confcious of demerit, and cannot avoid the dread of
meeting with its reward.

On the other hand, he who pays a facred regard
to the dictates of his confcience, cannot fail of a
prefent reward, and a reward proportioned to the
exertion required in doing his duty.

The man who, in oppolition to llrong temptation,
by a noble effort, maintains his integrity, is the liap-
pief^ man on earth. The more fevere his coniiicl
has been, the greater is his triumph. The confci-
oufncf^ of inward worth gives ftrength to his heart,
and makes his countenance to fiiine. Tempefts may
beat and floods roar, but he ftands firm as a rock in
the joy of a good confcience, and confidence of di-
vine approbation.

To this I fliall only add, what every man's confci-
ence dictates. That he who docs his duty, from the
convi(^\ion that it is right and honourable, and Nvhat
lie ought to do, ads from a nobler principle, and
v»-iiii more inward fitisfaction, than he who is bribctl
to do it, merely from the confideration of a reward
prefent or future.

CHAP.

OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 237

CHAP. vm.

Obfervalions conca-ning Confcience.

1 Shall now conclude this EfEiy with fomc obfcr-
vations concerning this power of the mind \\'hich
A\ e call confcience, by which its luiture may be better
underitood.

The firjl is, That, like all our other powers, it
comes to maturity by infenfible degrees, ai^d mi ay be
much aided in its ilrength and vigour by proper
culture.

AH the human faculties have their infancy and
their ftate of maturity.

The faculties which we have in common with the
brutes appear firft, and liave the quickcft growth.
In the firii: period of life, children are not capable of
difiin2;uiiliin2; ria;ht from wronsr inhuman conducT :
neither are they capable of abftracl reafoning in mat-
ters of fcience. Tlieir judgment of moral conduct,
as well as their judgment of truth, advances by in-
fenfible dco;rces, like the corn and the c:rafs.

In vegetables, firft the blade or the leaf appears,
then the flower, and lafl of all the fruit, the nobleft
produclion of the three, and that for which the
others were produced. Thefe fucceed one another
in a regular order. They require moiilure and heat
and air and Iheltcr to bring them to malurity, and
may be much improved by culture. According to
the variations of loil, feafon and culture, fome plants
are brought to much greater perfection than oihcrij
of the fame fpecies. Jjut no variation of culture or
feafon or foil can make grapes grow from thorns, or
fi<cs from thiRles.

We may obforve a fimilar progrefs in the faculties
of the Hiind : For there is a v.'onderful analogy

among

238 ESSAY in. QiAP. viir.

among all the works of God, from the leaft even to
the greatcft.

The facuhlcs of man unfold themfelves in a cer-
tain order, appointed by the great Creator. In their
gradual progrefs, they may be greatly aflifted or re-
tarded, improved or corrupted, by education, in-
llruclion, example, exercife, and by the fociety and
converfation of men, which, like foil and culture in
plants, may produce great, changes to the better or
to the worfe.

But thefe means can never produce any new fa-
culties, nor any other than were originally planted
in the mind by the Author of nature. And what is
common to the whole fpecies, in all the varieties of
inftruclion and education, of improvement and de-
generacy, is the work of God, and not the operation
of fecond caufes.

Such we may juftly account confcience, or the fa-
culty of dftinguifhing right conduct from wrong ;
lince it appears, and in all nations r.nd ages, has ap-
peared, in men that are come to maturity.

The feeds, as it were, of moral difcernment are
planted in the mind by him that made us. They
grow up in their proper feafon, and are at firft ten-
der and delicate, and eafily warped. Their progrefs
depends very much upon their being duly cultivated
and properly exercifed.

It is jfo with the power of reafoning, which all
acknowledge to be one of the moft eminent natural
faculties of man. It appears not in infancy. It
fprings up, by infenfible degrees, as we grow to ma-
turity. But its ftrength and vigour depend fo much
upon its being duly cultivated and exercifed, that
we fee many individuals, nay many nations, in which
it is hardly to be perceived.

Our intelledtual difcernment is not fo ftrong and
vigorous by nature, as to fecure us from errors in
fpeculation. On the contrary, we fee a ^reat part
of mankind, in every age, funk in grois ignorance

OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 22^

of things that are obvious to tlie more enlightened,
and fettered by errors and falle notions, which the
human underftanding duly improved, eafily throws
off.

It would be extremely abfurd, from tlie errors
and ignorance of mankind, to conclude that there
is no fuch thing as truth ; or that man has not a na-
tural faculty of difcerning it, and diftinguiiliing it
from error.

In like manner, our moral difcernment of what;
we ought, and what we ouglit not to do, is not iQ
itrong and vigorous by nature, as to fecure us from
very grols miftakes with regard to our duty.

In matters of conducf, as well as in matters of fpe-
culation, we arc liable to be miflcd by prejudices of
education, or by wrong inftruclion. But, in mat-
ters of conduct, we are alfo very liable to have our
judgment warped by our appetites and pallions, by
falhion, and by the contagion of evil example.

We muft: not therefore think, becaule man has
the natural power of difcerning what is right and
what is wrong, that he has no need of inftruclion ;
that this power has no need of cultivation and im-
provement ; that he may fafely rely upon the fug-
gcftions of his mind, or upon opinions lie has got,
he knows not how.

What fliould we tliink of a man, who, becaufe he
has by nature the power of moving all his limbs,
fhould therefore conclude that he needs not be
tauglit to dance, or to fence, to i-idc, or to fwim ?
All thefe exercifes arc performed by that power of
moving our limbs, which we have by nature ; but
they will be performed very awkwardly and imper-
fectly by thofe who have not been trained to them,
and praclifed in theni.

What Uiould we think of the man who, becaufe
he has the power by nature of diilinguilhing wirat
is true from what i^ falfe, Ihould conclude tliat he
hia jiy ncgd ty be tavght mathematics, or natural

philofc-

240 ESSAY III. Chap. VIII.

philofophy, or other fciences ? It is by the natural
power of human underflanding that every thing in
thofe fciences has been difcovcred, and that the truths
they contain are difcerned. But the underftanding
left to itfclf, without the aid of inftruclion, training,
habit, andexercifc, would make very fmall progrefs,
as every one fees, in perfons uninflrudled in thofe
matters.

Our natural power of difcernin,5f between right
and wrong, needs the aid of inftruclion, education,
cxcrcife, and habit, as well as our other natural
powers.

There are perfons who, as the fcripture fpeak'?,
have, by reafon of ufe, their fenfes exercifed to di(-
cern both good and evil ; by that means, they have
a much quicker, clearer, and more certain judg-
ment in morals than others.

The man who neglects the means of improvement
in the knowledge of his duty, may do very bad
thino:s, while he foilov\^s thelio-ht of his mind. And
though he be not culpable for acting according to
his judgment, he may be very culpable for not ufmg
the means of having his judgment better informed.

It may be obferved. That there are truths, both
fpeculative and moral, which a man left to him-
feif would never dfcover ; yet, when they are fair-
ly laid before him, he owns and adopts them, not
barely upon the authority of his teacher, but upon
their own intrinlic evidence, and perhaps wonders,
that he could be fo blind as not to fee them before.

Like a man whoft fon has been long abroad, and
fuppofed dead. After many years the fon returns,
and is not known by his father. He would never
find that this is his fon. But, when he difcovers
himfelf, the father foon finds, by many circumftan-
ces, that this is his fon who was loft, and can be no
other pcrfon.

Truth has an afHi^dty with the human underftand-
ing, which error hath not. And right principles of

conduct

OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. ^^41

conduct have an aflinity wilh a candid mind, which
uronc^ princi]")les liavc not. AVhcn they arc let be-
fore it in a jult iipjht, a well difpofed mind recogni-
fes this allinity, teels their authority, and perceives
them to be genuine. It was this, 1 apprehend, that
led Pla TO to conceive that the knowledge we ac-
quire in the prel'ent ftate, is only reminilccncc of
what, in a former ftate, we were acquainted wtii.

A man born and brought up in a fiivage nation,
may be taught to purlue injury with unrelenting
malice, to the deftruiiion of his enemy. Perhaps
when he does fo, his heart does not condemn him.

Yet, if he be fair and candid, and, when the tu-
mult of paflion is over, have the virtues of clemency,
gcnerofity, and forgivenefs, laid before him, as thev
were taught and exemplilied by the divine Author
of our religion, he will fee, that it is more noble to
overcome himfclf, and fubdue a favagepallion, thin
to deftroy his enemy. He will fee, that to make a
friend of an enemy, and to overcome evil witli
good, is the greateil of all vidories, and gives a
manly and rational delight, with which the brutifli
paflion of revenge deferves not to be compared. He
will fee that hitherto he afted like a man to his
friends, but like a brute to his enemies ; now he
knows how to make his whole character confiitent,
and one part of it to harmonize with another.

He muft indeed be a great ftrangcr to his own
heart, and to the ftate of human nature, who docs
not fee that he has need of the aid which his litua-
tion atTords him, in order to know how he ought
to act in many cafes that occur.

A fccond obfervation is. That confciencc is pecu-
liar to man. We lee not a veftigc or it in brute-ani-
mals. It is one ot thofe prerogatives by which we
are railed above them.

Brute-animals have many faculties in common
with us. They fee, and hear, and tafte, and fmell,
And feel. T'iiey have their pleafures and pains.

C^ They

242

ESSAY III. Chap. VIII.

They have various inftincls and appetites. They
have an affed-ion for their oflspring, and fome of
them for their herd or flock. Dogs have a wonder-
ful attachment to their mafters, and give manifcfl
figns of fympathy with them.

We fee, in brute-animals, anger and emulation,
pride and fhame. Some of them are capable of be-
ing trained by habit, and by rewards and punifli-
ments, to many things ufeful to man^

All this muft be granted ; and if our perception
of what we ought, and what we ought not to do,
could be refolved into any of thefe principles, or in-
to any cum.bination of them, it would follow, that
fome brutes are moral agents, and accountable for
their conduct.

But common fcnfe revolts againfl this conclufion.
A man who ferioufly charged a brute with a crime,
v.'ould be Inughcd at. They may do actions hurtful
to themfeive-, or to man. They may have qualities,
or acquire habits, that lead to fucli anions ; and
this is all we mean v.'hen wc call them vicious. But
they cannot be immoral ; nor can they be virtuous.
They are not capable of felf-government y and, when
thev act according to the pafTion or habit which is
flrongpft at the time, they acl according to the na-
ture tliat God has given them, and no more can
be required of them.

Tlicy cannot lay down a rule to themfelves, which
they are not to tranfgrefs, though prompted by ap-
petite, or rufiled by paflion. We fee no reafcm to
think that they can foim a general rule, or of obli-
gation to adhere to it.

Th< y hiive no conception of a promifc or contraft ;
nor can you enter into any treaty with tkem. They
can neither affirm nor deny, nor refolvc, nor plight
their f-ith. If nature had made them capable of
thefe operaticms- we fiiould fee the figns of them in
tlieir motions and geftures*

The-

OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 243

The moft fagacious brutes never invented a lan-
guage, nor learned the ulc of" one before invented.
Tliey never formed a plan of government, nor tran-
fmitted inventions to their pofterity.

Thele tilings, and many others that arc obvious
to common obiervation, Ihew that there is juil rca-
fon why mankind have always confidered the brute-
creation as deftitutc of the nobleft faculties with
wliich God hath endowed man, and particularly of
that faculty which makes us moral and accountable
beings.

The next obfervation is, That confcience is evident-
ly intended by nature to be the immediate guide and
director of our conduct, after we ariive at the years
tit underftaiiding. >

There are many things, which, from their nature
and ftruclure, iliew intuitively the end, for which
they were made.

A man who knows the ftruclure of a watch or
clock, can have no doubt in concluding that it was
made to meafure time. And he that knows the
ftructure of the eye, and the properties of light,
can have as little doubt whether it was made that
we might lee by it.

In the fabric of the body, the intention of the fe-
veral parts is, in many inflances, lo evident, as to
leave no poflibility of doubt. Who can doubt whe-
ther the mufcles were intended to move the parts in
which they are inferted ? Whether the bones wOrc
intended to give ftrength and fupport to the body ;
and fome of them to guard the parts wiiich they in-
clofe ?

When we attend to the fl:ru(fturc of the mind, the
intention of its various original powers is no lefs e\ i-
dent. Is it not evident, that the external fenfes are
given, that we may difcern thofe qualities of V.odies
which may be.uieful or hurtful to us? Memory,
that we may retain the knowledge we have acquir-
ed ; judgment and underftanding, that we may dif
tinguiili what is true from what is falfe i*

Q^ 2 The

244 ESSAY III. Chap. VIII.

The natural appetites of hunger and thirft, the
natural affe6iions of parents to their offspring, and
of relations to each other, the natural docility and
credulity of children, the affections of pity and fym-
pathy with the diftreffed, the attachment we feel to
neighbours, to acquaintance, and to the laws and
conftitution of our country ; thefe are parts of our
conftitution, which plainly point out their end, {o
that he muft be blind, or vei*y inattentive, who does
not perceive it. Even the paflions of anger and re-
fentment, appear very plainly to be a kind of dc-
fenfive armour, given by our Maker to guard us
againfl: injuries, and to deter the injurious.

Thus it holds generally with regard both to the
intelledual and adlive powers of man, that the in-
tention for which they are given, is written in legi-
ble characters upon the face of them.

Nor is this the cafe of any of them more evident
than of confcience. Its intention is manifeftly im-
plied in its office ; which is, to fliew us what is
good, what bad, and what indifferent in human
con duct.

It judges of every ad^ion before it is done. For
we can rarely acl fo precipitately, but we have the
confcioufnefs that M^hat we are about to do is right,
or wrong, or indifferent. Like the bodily eye, it
naturally looks forward, though its attention may
be turned back to the palh

To conceive, as fome fecm to have done, that its
office is only to reflect on paft acliion, and to ap-
prove or difapprove, is, as if a man Ihould conceive,
that the office of his eyes is only to look back upon
the road he has travelled, and to fee whether it be
clean or dirty ; a miftake which no man can make
who has the proper ufe of his eyes.

Confcience prcfcribes meafurcs to every appetite,
affection, and paffion, and fays to every other prin-
ciple of adlion, So far thou mayeft go, but no far-
ther.

OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 245

We may indeed tranfgrcfs its dictates, but we
cannot tranr^i-el's them with innocence, nor even
with impunity.

We condemn ourfelves, or, in the language of
fcripture, our heart comlt'?iins us, Mdicnevcr we go be-
yond the rules of right and wrong which confciencc
prcfcribes.

Other principles of action may have more ftrength,
but this only has authority. Its fcntence makes us
guilty to ourfelves, and guilty in the eyes of our
Pvlaker, whatever other principle may be fet in op-
poiition to it.

It is evident therefore, that this principle has,
from its nature, an authority to direct and deter-
mine with regard to our conduct; to judge, to ac-
quit, or to condemn, and even to punifli ; an autho-
rity v/hich belongs to no other principle of the hu-
man mind.

It is the candle of the Lord fet up within us, to
guide our fteps. Other principles may urge and im-
pel, but this only authorifes. Other principles
ourht to be controlled by this; this may l^c, but
i.ever ought to be controlled by any other, and ne-
ver can be with innocence.

The authority of confcience over the other active
principles of the mind, I do not confider as a point
that requires proof by argument, but as fclf-evldent.
For it implies no more than this. That in all cafes
a man ought to do his duty. He only who does in
all cafes what he ought to do, is the perfect man.

Of this perfection in the human nature, the Stoics
formed the idea, and held it forth in their writings,
as the goal to which the race of life ought to be
directed. Their luifc man was one in whom a regard
to the /;</;/r/?«;w fwallowed up every other principle ot
action.

The zvife jnan of the Stoics, like the pcrfcd orator
of the rhetoricians, was an idle cliaradcr, and was,
in fome rcfpedts, carried beyond nature ; yet it was

perhaps

246 E S S A Y III. Chap. VIII.

perhaps the moO: perfecl: model of virtue, that ever
was exhibited to tlie heathen world ; and fome of
thofe who copied after it, were ornaments to human
nature.

The laji obfervation is. That the moral faculty or
confcience is both an aclive and an intellectual pow-
er of the mind.

It is an aclive power, as every truly virtuous ac-
tion muft be more or lefs influenced by it. Other
principles may concur with it, and lead the fame
way; but no action can be called morally good, in
■w'hich a regard to what is right, has not fome influ-
ence. Thus a man who has no regard tojuftice,
may pay his juft debt, from no other motive, but
that he may not be thrown into prifon. In this ac-
tion there is no virtue at all.

The moral principle, in particular cafes, may be
oppofed by any of our animal principles. Paflion or
appetite may urge to what we know to be wrong.
In every inftance of this kind, the moral principle
ought to prevail, and the more difficult its conqueft
is, it is the more glorious.

In fome cafes, a regard to what is right may be
the fole motive, without the concurrence or oppo-
fition of any other principle of adion ; as when a
judge or an arbiter determines a plea between two
indifferent perfons, folcly from a regard to juftice.

Thus v.'c fee, that confcience, as an aclive princi-
ple, fometimes concurs with other aclive principles,
fometimes oppofcs them, and fometimes is the fole
principle of action.

I endeavoured before to fhew, that a regard to
our own good upon the whole is not only a rational
principle of action, but a leading principle, to which
a41 our animal principles are fubordinate. As thefe
are, therefore, two regulating or leading principles
in the conftitution of man, a regard to what is beft
for us upon the whole, and a regard to duty, it may

OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 247

l)c alkcd, Which of thefc ought to yield if they
luippcn to interfere ?

Some well meaninc^ perfons hii\'e maintained,
That all regard to ourlelves and to our own happi-
iiefs ought to be extinguiflied ; that we fliould love
A'irtuc for its own fake only, cren thoui^h it were to
be accompanied with eternal niifery.

This feems to have been tlie extravagance of fome
Myftics, which perhaps they were led into, in op-
jwfition to a contrary extreme of the fchoolmen of
the middle ages, who made the defire of good to
ourfelves to be the fole motive to action, and virtue
to be approvable only on account of its prefent or
future reward.

jufter views of human nature will teach us to
avoid both thefe extremes.

On the one hand, the difmtercfted love of virtue
is undoubtedly the noblcft principle in human na-
ture, and ought never to (loop to any other.

On the other hand, there is no aclive principle
which God hath planted in our nature that is vici-
ous in itfclf, or that ought to be eradicated, even if
it were in our power.

They are all ufeful and neceffary in our prefent
ftatc. The perfe<5lion of human nature conlills, not
in extinguifhing, but in reftraining them within
their proper bounds, and keeping them in due fub-
ordination to the governing principles.

As to the fuppofition of an oppofition between the
two governing principles, that is, between a regard
to our happiiicf, upon the whole, and a regard to
duty, this luppolition is merely imaginary. There
can be no fuch oppofition.

While the world is under a wife and benevolent
adminiftration, it is impolliblc, that any man fliould,
in the ill'ue, be a lofer by doing his duty. Every
man, therefore, m ho believes in God, M'hile he is
careful to do his duty, may fafely leave the care of
his happincfs to him who made him. He is confci-

ous

248 E S S A Y III. Chap. VIII. -

ous tliat he confults the laft moft cfTcctually by at-
tending to the liiih

Indeed, if we fuppofc a man to be an atheift in
Ills belief, and, at the f^ime time, by wrong judg-
ment, to believe that virtue is contrary to his hap-
pinefs upon the whole, this cafe, as Lord Shaftes-
bury juftly obferv^s, is without remedy. It will
be impoflible for the man to act, fo as not to con-
tradici a leading principle of his nature. He muft
either facrifice his happinefs to virtue, or virtue to
happinefs ; and is reduced to this miferable dilemma,
whether it be beft to be a fool or a knave.

This fhews the ftrong connection between mora-
lity and the principles of natural religion ; as the
lali only can fecure a man from the pofiibility of an
apprehenfion, that he m.ay play the fool by doing
his duty.

Hence, even Lord Shaftesbury, in his graveft
work, concludes, That virtue -without piety is income
plefe. Without piety, it lofes its brightcft example,
its nobleft object, and its firmeft fupport.

1 conclude with obfcrving. That confcience, or
the moral faculty, is likewife an intellectual power.

By it folely wo. have the original conceptions or
ideas of right and wrong in human conduct. And
of right and wrong, there are not only many diffe-
rent degrees, but many different fpecies. Juftice
and injuftice, gratitude and ingratitude, benevolence
and malice, prudence and folly, magnanimity and
mcanncfs, decency and indecency, are various mo-
ral forms, all comprehended under the general noti-
on of right and wrong in conduct, all of them ob-
jects of moral approbation or difapprobation, in a
greater or a lefs degree.

The conception of thefe, as moral qualities, we
have by our moral faculty ; and by the fame faculty,
when we compare them together, wt perceive va-
rious moral relations among them. Thus, we per-
ceive, that juftice is entitled to a finall degree of

praife.

OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 249

praifc, butinjufticc to a high degree of blame ; and
tlie lame may be iliid of gratitude and its contrary.
When jufticc and gratitude interfere, gratitude muft
give place to juftice, and unmerited beneficence muft
give phice to both.

Many fuch relations between the various moral
qualities compared together, are immediately dif-
ccrned by our moral faculty. A man needs only to
confult his own heart to be convinced of them.

All our reafonings in morals, in natural jurifpru-
dcnce, in the law of nations, as well as our reafon-
ings about the duties of natural religion, and about
the moral government of the Deity, muft be ground-
ed upon the dictates of our moral faculty, as lirft
principles.

As this faculty, therefore, furnifties the human
mind with many of its original conceptions or ideas,
as well as with the firft principles of many import-
ant branches of human knowledge, it may juftly be
accounted an intellcdual, as well as an adive power
pf the mind.

ESSAY

E S S A Y IV,

OF THE LIBERTY OF MORAL AGENTS,

C H A P. L

The Notions of Moral Liberty and Necejpfy Jlated,

IJ Y the liberty of a moral agent, I underftand, a
power over the determinations of his own will.

If, in any aclion, he had power to will what he
tlid, or not to M'ill it, in that acl:ion he is free. But
if, in every voluntary aclion, the determination of
his will be the necefTary confequence of fomething
involuntary in the flate of his jnind, or of fome-
thing in his external circumftances, he is not tree ;
lie h.is not what I call the liberty of a moral agent,
but is fubjecl to ncceflity.

This liberty fuppofes the agent to have under-
(landing and will ; for the determinations of the
will are the fole object about which this power is em-
ployed ; and there can be no will without fuch a de-
i.;ree of undcrftandlng, at leaft, as gives the concep-
tion of that \\ Inch we \sill.

The liberty of a moral agent implies, not only a
conception of what he wills, but fome degree of
practical Judgment or reafon.

For, if he has not the judgment to difcern one
iletcrmination to be preferable to another, either in
itfcll", or for fomc purpofe which he intends, what
can be the ufe of a power to determine ? Kis deter-
minations mull be made perfectly in the dark, with-
out

23 2 ESSAY IV. Chap. I,

out reafon, inotivc or end. They can neither be
right nor wrong, wife nor foolifli. Whatever the
confequences may be, they cannot be imputed to
tlie agent, who had not the capacity of forefceing
them, or of perceiving any reafon for acling other-
wife than he did.

We may perhaps be able to conceive a being en-
dowed with power over the determinations of his
v.ill, without any light in his mind to direct that
power to fome end. But fuch power would be gi-
ven in vain. No cxercife of it could be either blam-
ed or approved. As nature gives no power in vain,
I fee no ground to afcribe a power over tl^e deter-
minations of the will to any being who has no judg-
ment to apply it to the direciion of his conduct, no
difcernment of what he ouHit or ouo;ht not to do.

For that reafon, in this Eflay, I fpeak only of the
liberty of moral agents, who are capable of acting
well or ill, wifely or foolifhly, and this, for difdnc-
tion's fake, I fiiall call jnoral liberly.

What kind, or what degree of liberty belongs to
brute-animals, or to our own fpecies, before any
life of reafon, I do' not know. We acknowledge
that they have not the power of fclf-government.
•Such of their actions as may be called -voluntary, feem
to be invariably determined by the paffion or appe-
tite, or affeclion or habit which is ftrongeft at the
time.

This feems to be the law of their conftitution, to
which they yield, as the inanimate creation does,
without any conception of the law, or any intenti-
on of obedience.

But of civil or moral government, which are ad-
drefled to tlie rational powers, and require a con-
ception of the law and an intentional obedience,
ihey arc, in the judgment of all mankind, incapa-
ble. Nor do I fee what end co>iid be ferved by giv-
ing tlicm a power over the determinations of their
own V ill, uiilcfs to make then: intraclable by difci-
pllne, which we fee they arc not.

The

THE NOTIONS OF MORAL LIBERTY, ijfc. 2:2

The cffccl of moral liberty is, That it is in the
power of the agent to do well or ill. This power^
like every other gift of God, may be abiifed. Tlie
right ufe of this gift of God is to do well and wife-
ly, as far as his bcft judgment can direct him, and
thereby merit cfteem and approbation. The abufe
of it is to act contrary to what he knows or fufpecls
to be his duty and his wifdom, and thereby juftly
merit difiipprobation and blame.

By ncre/fiiy, I underlland the want of that moral
liberty which I have above defined.

If tJiere can be a better and a worfe in actions on
the fyftem of neceflity, let us fuppofe a man neceiTa-
rily determined in all cafes to will and to do what is
beil to be done, he would furely be innocent and in-
culpable. But, as far as I am able to judge, he
would not be entitled to the eftcem and moral ap-
probation ot thofe who knew and believed this ne-
ceflity. What was, by an ancient author, iliid of
Cato, might indeed be faid of him. He ivas good
hccaufc he could not he olhcrwife. But this faying, if
underftood literally and ftriclly, is not the prailc of
CA'ro, but of his conftitution, which was no more
the Vvorkof Cato, than his exiftence.

On the other hand, if a man be necefTarily deter-
mined to do ill, this cafe feems to me to move pitv,
but not difapprobation. He was ill, bccaufe he could
not be otherw ife. WIio can blante him ? Neceflity
has no law.

If he knovv-3 that he aftcd under this neceflity, has
he not juft ground to exculpate himfelf .•* I'hc blame,
it there be any, is not in him, but in his conflilu-
tiou. If he be charged by his Maker with doing
wrong, may he not expoftulute with him, and fay,
AVhy haft thou made me thus? I may be facrificcd
at thy pleafure, for the common good, like a man
that has the plague, but not for ill defert ; for thou
knoweft thai what I am charged with, is thy work,
and not mine.

Such

254 ESSAY IV. Chai'. I.

Such are my notions of moral liberty and neceflity,
and of the confeqiicnces infeparably connected with
both the one and the other.

This moral liberty a man may have, though it do
not extend to all his actions, or even to all his vo-
luntary actions. Ke does many things by inftincl,
many things by the force of habit without any
thought at all, and confequently without will. In
the firft part of life, he has not the power of felf-go-
vernment any more than the brutes. That power
over the determinations of his own will, m hich be-
longs to him in ripe years, is limited, as all his
powers are ; and it is perhaps beyond the reach of
his underftanding to define its limits with precifion.
We can only fay, in general, that it extends to eve-
ry action for which he is accountable.

This power is given by his Maker, and at his
pleafure w^hofe gift it is, it may be enlarged or di-
miniflied, continued or withdrawn. No power in
the creature can be independent of the Creator.
His hook is in its nofe ; he can give it line as far as
he fees fit, and, when he pleafes, can reftrain it, or
turn it whitherfoever he will. Let this be always
underllood, when w'e afcribe liberty to man, or to
any created being.

Suppofing it therefore to be true. That man is a
free agent, it may be true, at the fame tim.e, that
his liberty may be impaired or loft, by diforder of
body or mind, as in melancholy, or in madnefs ; it
may be impaired or loft by vicious habits ; it may,
in particular cafes, be reftrained by divine interpo-
fitior.

We call man a free agent in the fame way as we
call him a reafonable agent. In many things he is
not guided by reafon, but by principles fimilar to
thofe of the brutes. His reafon is weak at beft. It
is liable to be impaired or loft, by his own fault, or
by ether means. In like manner, he may be a free

agent,

THE NOTIONS OF iNIORAL LIBERTY, cjfr.

":)j

agent, thougli his freedom of adion may hav6 many
fiinlhr limitations.

The liberty I have defcribed has been reprefented
by I'ome Philofophcrs as inconceivable, and as in-
volving^ an abfurdity.

" Liberty, they fay, confifts only in a power to
a6l as we will ; and it is impoflible to conceive in any"
being a greater liberty than this. Hence it follows,
that liberty does not extend to the determinations
of the will, but only to the actions confcqucnt to
its determination, and depending upon the will.
To Cciy that we have power to will fuch an aclion,
is to fay, that wc may will it, if we will. This
fuppofes the will to be determined by a prior will ;
and, for the fame reafon, that will mull be deter-
mined by a will prior to it, and fo on in an infinite
ferics of wills, which is abfurd. T'o acT freely,
therefore, can mean nothing more than to act vo-
luntarily ; and this is all the liberty that can be con-
ceived in man, or in any being."

This reafoning, firft, I think, advanced by LIobbes,
has been very generally adopted by the defen-
ders of neceflity. It is grounded upon a definition
of liberty totally different from that which I have
given, and therefore does not apply to moral liberty,
as above defined.

But it is laid that this is the only liberty that is
poffiiilc, tliat is conceivable, that does not involve
an abi'urdity.

It is ftraiigc, indeed ! if the word liberty has no
meaning but this one. I fliall mention three all very
common. The objecTion applies to one of them,
but to neither of the other two.

Liberty is fomctimes oppofed to external force or
confinement of the body. Sometimes it is oppofed
to obligation by law, or by lawful authority. Some-
times it is oppoicd to necelTity.

1. It is oppofed to confinement of the body by
fyperior force. So we f.iy a prifoner is fet at liberty

when

2^6 ESSAY IV. Chap. I.

when his fetters arc knocked off, and he is difcliarjr^
ed from confinement. This is the liberty defined in
the objeci:ion ; ;ind I grant that this liberty extends
not to the will, neither does the confinement, be-
caufe the will cannot be confined by external force.

1. Liberty is oppofed to obligation by law, or
lawful authority. This liberty is a right to acl one
way or another, in things which the law has neither
commanded nor forbidden ; and this liberty is
meant when we fpeak of a man's natural liberty,
his civil liberty, his Chriftian liberty. It is evident
that this liberty, as well as the obligation oppofed to
it, extends to the will : For it is the will to obey that
makes obedience ; the will to tranfgrefs that makes
a tranfgrelTion of the law. Without will there can
be neither obedience nor tranfgreflion. Law fuppofes
a power to obey or to tranfgrefs ; it does not take
away this power, but propofes the motives of duty
and of interefi:, leaving the power to yield to theniy
or to take the confequence of tranfgreflion.

3. Liberty is oppofed to necefllty, and in this fcnfe
it extends to the determinations of the will only,
and not to what is confequent to the will.

In every voluntary action, the determination of
the will is the firft part of the aclion, upon which
alone the moral efiiimation of it depends. It has
been made a queftion among Philofophers, Whether,
in every inftance, this determination be the neceffa-
ry confequence of the conftitution of the perfon,
and the circumftances in which he is placed ; or whe-
ther he had not power, in many cafes, to determine
this way or that ?

This has, by fome, been called the pbilofopbical
notion of liberty and neceflity ; but it is by no means
peculiar to Philofophers. The lowefi; of the vulgar
have, in all ages, been prone to have recourfe to
this neceflity, to exculpate themfelves or their friends
in what they do wrong, though, in the general te-
nor of their conduct, they act upon the contrary
principle.

Whether

THE NOTIONS OF MORAL LIBERTY, ^c. 257

Whether this nbtion of moral liberty be conceiv-
able or not, every man muft judge for himfclf. To
mc there appears no difllculty in conceiving it. I
confidcr the determination ot" the will as an eiTect.
Tills efled muft have a caufc which had power to
produce it ; and the cauic muft be either the perfon
himfclf, whofc will it is, or fome other being. The
firft ii as ealiiy conceived as the laft. If the perfon
was the caufe of that determination of his own will,
he was free in that aclion, and it is juftly imputed
to him, whether it be good or bad. But, if another
being was the caufe of this determination, either by
producing it immediately, or by means and inftru-
ments under his direction, then the determination
is the acl and deed of that being, and is fololy im-
putable to him.

But it is faid, " That nothing is in our power
but what depends upon the will, and therefore the
will itfelf cannot be in our power."

I anfwer, That this is a fallacy a'rifingfrom taking
a common iaying in a fenfe which it never was in-
tended to convey, and in a fenfe contrary to what
it neceflarily implies.

In common life, when men fpeak of what is, or
is not, in a man's power, they attend only to the
external and vifibJe effccl:s, which only can be per-
ceived, and which only can afl'ecl them. Of thcfe,
it is true, that nothing is in a man's pOM^er, but
what depends upon .his will, and this is all that is
meant by this common faying.

But this is fo far from excluding his will from be-
ing in his power, that it ricceilarily implies it. For
to fay that what depends upon the will is in a man's
power, but the will is not in his power, is to fiy
that the end is in his pov/er, but the means necefla-
ry to that end arc not in his power, which is a con-
tradiction.

In many propofitions which we exprefs univer-
fally, there is an exception neceflarily implied, and

R therefore

258 E S S A Y IV. Chap. II.

therefore always underfiiood. Thus when \vc fay
that all things depend upon God, God himfclf is
necelTarily excepted. In like manner, when we iHy,
that all that is in our poM'cr depends upon the will,
the will itfelf is neceilarily excepted : For if the will
be not, nothing elfe can be in our power. Every
efl'ecl muft be in the power of its caufe. The deter-
mination of the will is an effcQ., and therefore muft
be in the power of its caufe, whether that caufe be
the agent himfelf, or fome other being.

From what has been faid in this chapter, I hope
the notion of moral liberty will be diftinclly under-
flood, and that it appears that this notion is neither
inconceivable, nor involves any abfurdity or con-
tradiction.

C H A P. II.

Of the Words Caufe and Efftd, Aaio?i, and Aclive Power, I

J. HE Vvriiings upon liberty and ncccflity have been
much darkened, by the ambiguity of tlie words ufed
in reafonlng upon that fubjc*^!:. T he words caufe and
effed, adion and aFirce power, liberty and neccffity, are
related to each other : The meaning of one deter-
minej the mcaxiing of the reft. When we attempt
tD define them, we can only do it by fynonymous
words which need dclinition as m.uch. I'here is a
ftrict fcnfc in which thoie words mult he ufcd, if we
i'peak and reafon clearly about mural iiocrty ; but to
keep to this ftrid fenfc is diihcult, becaufe, in all
languages, they have, by cuftom, got a great lati-
tude of lignification.

OF THE WORDS CAUSE AND EFFECT, ^c. 2 5y

As wc canriot rcafon about moral liberty, Vv'itliout
xifing thofc ambiguous words, it is proper to point
out, as diliincLly as pofiiblc, their proper and origi-
nal meaning, in which they ought to be undcrftood
in treating of this fubject, and to fhew from what
caufcs they have become fo ambiguous in all lan-
guages, as to darken and embarrafs our reafonings
upon it.

Every thing that begins to exift, muft have a caufe
of its exiftence, which had power to give it cxif-
tence. And every thing that undergoes any change,
muft have fomc caufe of that change.

That neither exiftence, nor any mode of exiftence,
can begin without an eilicient caufe, is a principle
that appears very early in the mind of man ; and it
is fo univerfal, and io llrmly rooted in human nature,
that the moft determined fcepticifm cannot eradicate
it.

It is upon this principle that we ground the rati-
onal belief of a deity. But that is not the only ufe
to which wc apply it. Every man's conduct is go-
verned by it every day, and almoft every hour of
his life. And if it were pofliblc for any man to root
out this principle from his mind, he muft give up
every thing that is called common prudence, and be
fit only to be confined as infane.

From this principle it follows, That every thing
which undergoes any change, muft cither be the
efficient caufe of that change in itfelf, or it nmftbe
changed by fome other being.

In the /if^i cafe it is faid to have a^ive pozcer, and
to ^^ in producing that change. In ihcfecond cafe it
is merely /(.v^^/fLr, ovh acted up:n, and the adlive pow-
er is in that being only which produces the change.

The name of a caufe and of an agent^ is properly
given to that being only, which, by its active pow-
er, produces fomc change in itfelf, or in fomc other
being. The change, whether it be of thought, of
will, or of motion, is xhc effect. A^ftive power thcrc-

R 2 fore,

«o=> ESSAY IV. CfiAP.II.

fore, is a quality in the caufe, Avhich enables it to
produce the ellecl. And the exertion of that active
power in producing the effect, is called aflio?i^ agency,
efficiency.

In order to the production of any effecl, there
muft be in the caufe, not only power, but the exer-
tion of that power : For power that is not exerted
produces no eiT'cff.

All that is neceifary to the production of any effect,
is power in an eflicient cai\i'e to produce the effect,
and the exertion of that power : For it is a contra-
dit^iion to fay, that the caufe has power to produce
the effeft, and exerts that power, and yet the effect
is not produced. The effect cannot be in his power
unlets A\ the means neceifary to its production be in
his power.

It is no lefs a contradiction to fay, that a caufe has
power to produce a certain effect, but that he cannot
exert that power : For power which cannot be ex-
erted is no power, and is a contradiction in terms.

To prevent miftakc, it is proper to obfcrve, That
a being may have a power at one time which it has
not at another. It may commonly have a power,
which, at a particular time, it has not. Thus, a
man may commonly have power to walker to run ;
but he has not this power when allecp, or when he
is confi'.ied by fuperior force. In common language,
he may be fiiid to have a power which he cannot then
exert. But this popular cxprefhon means only that
he commoidy has chis power, and will Iiave it when
the caufe is removed wliich at prcfent deprives him
of it : For when we fpeak frrictly and philofophically,
it is a contradiction to fay that he has this power, at
that moment when he is deprived of it.

Thefe, I think, are neceffary confequenccs from
the principle firil mentioned. That every change
which'happens in nature muft have an efiicient cauie
which Irad power to produce it.

Another

OF THE WORt)S CAUSE AND EFFECT, bv. 261

Another principle, which appears very early in the
mind ot man, is. That we arc eflicient eauibs in our
deliberate and voluntary actions.

We are confcious ot making an exertion, fome-
timcs with diiliculty, in order to produce certain ei>
fi'ft. An exertir,n made deliberately and volunta-
rily, in ordier to produce an ellccl, implies a convic-
tioa th.;t the elTecl is in our power. No man can
deliberately attempt what he does not believe to be
in his power. The language of all mankind, and
their ordinary conduct in life, demonftrate, tliat
they havT a conviction of fome active power in them-
(elves to produce certain motiorts in their own and
in other bodies, and to regulate atid direct their ov.n
thr,ujhts. This conviction \vc have fo early in life,
that we have no r<jmembrance when, or in what way
we acouired it..

Thai fuch a conviction is at firft the nec-elikry refuit
of our conftitution, and that it can never rbe entirely
obliterated, is, I think, ackn<5wiedged by one €)f tlie
moft zealous defenders of neccflity. Free Di/c'/f/k'.?^
Sec. p. 298. '• Such arc the iniiuences to-v.'hich all
" mankind, M'ithout diftin^iion, are exppfed, that
" they necciVarily refer actions (I mean refer them
" ultimately) hrft of all to themfelves and others ;
" and it is a long time before tliey begin to cpnfider
" tiiemklves and others as inftrumcnts in the hand
*' of a luperior agent. Clonfequently, the allbciati-
" ons which refer actions to themfelves get fo con-
*' firmed, that they are never entirely obliterated ;
*' and therefore the common language, and the com-
" mon feelings of majikind, will be adapted to the
*' firft, the limited and imperfect, or rralher errone-
*' ous view of thing-i."

It is very probable, that the very conception or
idea of a6tive power, and of eflicient caufes, is de-
rived from our voluntary exertions in producing
eSefts ; and that, if we were jiot confcious of Inch
exertions, we ihov4(i have no conception at ail of a

caufe.

262 ESSAY IV. Chap. II.

caiife, or of aflivc power, and confequently no con-
viction of the neceflity of a caufe of evcrv chancre
uliich \vc obferve in nature.

It is certain that v/c can conceive no kind of aciix'e
power but what is flmilar or analogous to that which
we attribute to ourfelves ; that is, a power which is
exerted by will and with underflanding. Our no-
tion, even of Almighty power, is derived from the
notion of human power, by removing from the for-
m.cr thofe imperfections and limitations to v.-hich the
latter is fubjected.

It may be difficult to explain the origin of our
conceptions and belief concerning efficient caufes and .
aftive power. The common theory, that all our
ideas arc ideas of fenfation or reflection, and that all
our belief is a perception of the agreement or the
dilagrcement of thofe ideas, appears to be repugnant,
both to the idea of an efficient caufe, and to the be-
lief of its neceffity.

An attachment to that theory has led fome Philo^
fophers to deny that we have any conception of an
efficient caufe, or of active power, becaufe efficiency
and active power are not ideas, either of fenfation
or refleiftion. They maintain, therefore, that a caufe
is only fomething prior to the effi^ft, and conftantly
conjoined vvith it. This is Mr. Hume's notion of a
caufe, and feems to be adopted by Dr. Priestley,
who fays, " That a caufe cannot be defined to be any
*' thing, hvitfucb previous circumjlances as are conjlantlj
** follo'wcd by a certain cffcd, the conftancy of the re-
*• fult making us conclude, that there muil be a
" fiifficient reafon^ in the nature of the things, why it
*' fliould be produced in thofe circumftanccs."

But theory ought to ftoop to fa61, and not fact to
theory. Every man who underftands the language
knows, that neither priority, nor conftant conjunc-
tion, nor both taken together, imply efficiency.
Every man, free from prejudice, mull aflent to
what Cicero h^s faid .• Itaq^ite nonfic caufa intcUigi debet ^

OF THK WORDS CAUSE AND EFFECT, b".-. 263

ut quod cuiquc antccedat, id ct caufa^ Jld quod cidqiie
cjjicientcr antcccdit.

The very dlfpute, whether we have the conception
of an elllcient cauie, Ihows that we have. For though
men may difpute about things which have no exif-
tcnce, they cannot dijpute about things of which
they have no conception.

What has been faid in this chapter is intended to
fliew. That the conception of caufes, of action and
of active power, in the ftricc and proper fcnfc of
thefe words, is found in tiie minds of all men very
early, even in the dawn of their rational life! It
\s therefore probable, that, in all languages, the
words by which theie concejitions were exprcfl'cd
were at iirft diflin^i and ununbiguous, yet it is cer-
tain, that, among the moil enligiitencd nations, thefe
words are applied to fo many things of dilTcrcnt
natures, and ufed in fo vague a manner, that it is
very diilicult to reafon about them diftinctly.

Tiiis phenomenon, at firll view, fecms very un-
accountable. But a little reflection may fatisfy us,
that it is a natural confequence of the flow and gra-
dual progrefs of human knowledge.

And fmce the ambiguity of thefe words has fo
great influence upon our reafoning about moral li-
berty, and furnidies the ftrongeft objections againfl
it, it is not foreign to ourfubjeclto ihcw whence it
arifes. When wc know the caufes that have produ-
ced tliis ambiguity, v/e ihall be icf> in danger of being
milled by it, and the proper and ilrict meaning of
the words will more evidently appear.

CHAP.

264 ESSAY IV. Chap. HI.

CHAP. III.

Caufes of the Ambiguity of thofe Words,

VVhKN we turn our attention to external ob-
jects, and begin to exercife our rational faculties
about them, we find, that there are fome motions
and changes in them, which we have power to pro-
duce, and that they have many Vv'hich muft have
fome other caufe, Either the objects muft have life
and aftive power, as we have, or they muft be
moved or changed by fomething that has life and
ad^ive power, as external objects are moved by us.

Our firft thoughts fcem to be. That the objects
in which we perceive fuch motion have underftand-
ing and active power as we have.

*' Savages, foys the Abbe Ravnai., wherever they
" fee motion which they cannot account for, there
" they fuppofe a foul."

All men may be confidered as favages in this re-
fpecl, until they are capable of inftruclion, and of
ufmg their faculties in a more perfect manner than
favages do.

The rational converfations of bird^ and beafts in
TEsop's fables do not fhock the belief of children.
They have that probability in them which wc require
in an epic poem. Poets give us a great deal of plea-
fure, by clothing every object with intellectual and
moral attributes, in metaphor and in other figures.
May not the pleafurc which we take in this poetical
language, arife, in part, from its correfpondence
with our earlieft fentimcnts ?

However this may be, the Abbe Raynal's obfer-
vation is fufficiently confirmed, both from fa(ft, and
from the ftructure of all languages.

Rude

OF THE AMBIGUITY OF THOSE WORDS. 26^

Rude nations do really believe fun, moon, and
ftars, earth, fca, and air, fountains and lakes, to have
underftandiiig and a<flive power. To pay hon^.age
to them and implore their favour, is a kind of idola-
try natural to favao^es.

All languages carry in their ftruclure the marks of
their being formed when this belief prevailed. The
diftinction of verbs and participles into aclivc and
paflivc, which is found in all langu;igcs^ mull have
been originally intended to diftinguilh what is real-
ly a<ftive from what is merely palTive ; and, in all lan-
guages, we lind adiive verbs applied to thofe objects,
in which, according to the Abbe Raynal's obfer-
vation, favages fuppofe a foul.

Thus we fay the fun rifcs and fets, and comes to
the meridian, the moon changes, the fea ebbs and
flows, the winds blow. Languages were formed by
men who believed thefe objedts to have life and ac-
tive power in themfelves. It was 'therefore proper
and natural to exprcfs their motions and changes by
aftive verbs.

There is no furer way of tracing the fentiments
of nations before they have records than by the
ftruclure of their language, which, notwithflandin'T^
the changes produced in it by time, will always re-
tain fome iignatures of the thoughts of thofe by
whom it was invented. When we lind the fame fen-
timents indicated in the ftructure of all languages,
thole fentiments mull have been common to the hu-
man fpecies when languages were invented.

When a few of fuperior intellectual abilities find
leifure for fpcculation, they begin to philofophize,
and foon difcover, that many of thofe objects,
which, at firft, they believed to be intelligent and
active, are really lifelcfs and pafiive. This is a very
important difcovery. It elevates the mind, eman-
cipates from many vulgar fupcrflitions, and invites
to f:irther difcovcrics of the fame kind.

266 ESSAY IV. ' Chap. III.

As philofopliy advances, life and activity in natu-
ral objects retires, and leaves them dead and inaftive.
Inftead of moving voluntarily, vv-e find them to be
moved neceffarily ; inftead of aaing vc Hnd tlieni to
be acted upon ; and nature appears as one great ma-
chine, where one v/heel is turned by another, that
by a third ; and how far this necefi'ary fucceflion may
reach, the Philofopher does not know.

The weaknefs of human rcafon makes men prone,
when they leave one extreme, to rufli into the op-
pofite ; and thus philofophy, even in its infancy,
may lead men from idolatry and polytheifm into
athcifm, and from afcribing active power to ina-
nimate beings, to conclude all things to be carried
on by necefhty.

Whatever origin we afcribe to the doctrines of
atheifm and of fatal neceflity, it is certain, that both
may be traced almoft as far back as philofophy ; and
both appear to 9-d the oppoiltes of the earlieft fen-
timents of men.

It mull have been by the obfervation and rcafon-
ing of the fpeculative few, that thofe objects were
diicovered to be inanimate and inactive, to which
the many afcribed life and activity. But while tiie
fiw are convinced of this, they muft fpeak the lan-
guage of the ?}iany in order to be underftood. 80
we fee, that w^hen the Ptolemaic fyftem of agrono-
my, which agrees with vulgar prejudice and with
vulgar language, has been univerially rejected by
Philofophers, they continue to ufe the phrafeology
that is grounded upon it, not only in fpeaking to
the vulgar, but in fpeaking to one another. They
fay, The fun rifes and fets, and moves annually
through all the figns of the zodiac, while they be-
lieve that he never leaves his place.

In like manner, thofe active verbs and participles,
which were applied to the inanimate objects of na-
ture, when they were believed to be really a<^live,
continue to be applied to them after they are difco-
vered to be paillve.

The

Oy THE AMBIGUITY OF THOSE WORDS. 16-]

The forms of language, once eflabliflicd by cuf-
tom, are not fo eafily changed as the notions on
which they were originally ibundecl. Vv'hilc the
founds remain, their fignification is gradually enlarg-
ed or altered. . This is fometimc:) found, even in
thofe fciences in which tlic fignification of words is
the moft accurate andprccife. Ihus, in arithmetic,
the word number, among the ancients, always figni-
fied fo many units, and it would have been abfurd
to apply it either to unity or to any part of an unit ;
but now we call unity, or any part of unity, a )wm-
hcr. With them, multiplication always increafed a
number, and divifion diminiflied it ; but wc fpeak
of multiplying by a fradiion, wliich diminifhes, and
of dividing by a fraction, which increafes the num-
ber. We fpe:ik of dividing or multiplying by unity,
which neither diminiflies nor increafes a lumber.
Thcfc forms of exprcilion, in the ancient language,
would have been abfurd. ♦

By fuch changes, in the meaning of words, the lan-
guage of every civilized nation refembles old furni-
ture new modelled, in which many things are put to
ufcs for which they were not originally intended,
and for which they were not perfectly fitted.

This is one great caufe of the imperfcclion of
language, and it appears very remarkably in thofe
verbs and participles which are a<5tiye ^n their form,
but are frequently ufed fo as to have uothing adlive
in their Jignihcation.

Hence we are autlmrifed by cullom to afcribe ac-
tion and a6tive power to things which we believe
to be paflivc. The proper and original fignification
of every word, which at firft fignified action and
cnufation, is buried and loft under that vague mean-
inir wliich cufiom has alhxcd to it.

ihat there is a real difiinCi ion, ,and pcrfedl oppo-
fition, between atiiing and being ac^ted upon, every
man may be fatisficd v/ho is capable of relleJlion.
And that this dillinclion is percci\ ed by all men as

foon

268 ESSAY IV. Chap. III.

foon a"* they begin to reafon, appears by the diftinc-
tion between active and paflive verbs, which is ori-
ginal in all languages, though, from the caufes that
have been mentioned, they come to be confounded
in the progrefs of human improvement.

Another way in which phiiofophy has contributed
very much to the ambiguity' of the words under
our confideration, defcrves to be mentioned.

The firtl ftep into natural phiiofophy, and what
hath commonly been confidered as its ultim.ate ei.d,
is the inveftigation of the caufes of the phaenomena
of nature ; that is, the caufes of thofe appearances
in nature which are not the efTetts of human pow-
er. Ftlix qui potidt rerum cognofcere caufas^ is the Xtw-
timent of every mind that has a turn to fpecula-
tion.

The knowledge of the caufes of things promifes
no lefs the enlargement of human power than the
gratification of human curiofity ; and therefore,
among the enlightened part of mankind, this know-
iedp^e has been purfued in all ages with an avidity
proportioned to its importance.

In nothing does the difference between the intel-
Je<5lual powers of man and thofe of brutes appear
more confpicuous than in this. For in them we per-
ceive no delire to inveftigate the caufes of things,
nor indeed any lign that they have the proper notion
of a caufe.

There is reafon, however, to apprehend, that, in
this inveftigation, men have wandered much in the
dark, and that their fuccef^ has, by no means, been
equal to their defire and expectation.

We eafily difcover an eftabliflied order and con-
nection in the phenomena of nature. We learn, in
many cafes, from Mdiat has happened, to know w hat
wall happen. The difcoveries of this kind, made by
common obfervation, are many, and are the foun-
dation of common prudence in the conduct of life.
Philofophers, by more accurate obfervation and cx-
^' periment,

OF THE AMBIGUITY OF THOSE WORDS. 269

pcriment, liavc made many more ; by which arts are
improved, and human pov\cr, as well as hum^n
knowledge, is enkrged.

l^ut, as to tlie real caufes of the phtcnomena of
nature, how little do we know ! All our knowledge
of things external, mull be grounded upon the in-
formations of our fcnfes ; but caufation and adive
power are not objecls of fenfe ; nor is that always the
caufe of a phi\.nomenon which is prior to it, and
conftantly conjoined with it ; otherwife night would
he the caufe of day, and day the caufe of the fol-
lowins: ni'jht.

It is to this day problematical, whether all the
phx-nomcna of the material fyftem be produced by
the immediate operation of the Firft Caufe, accord-
ing to the laws which his wifdom determined, or
wliether fubordinate caufes are employed by him in
the operations of nature ; and if they be, what their
nature, and their different offices are r And whether,
in all cafes, they acl by commiilion, or, in fome,
accordiniT to their dilbretion ?

When we are fo much in the dark with regard
to the real caufes of the pharnomena of nature, and
have a ftrong defire to know them, it is not ftrano-e,
that ingenious men fhould form numberlefs conjec-
tures ar.d theorie-^, by which the foul, hungerino-
for knowledge, is fed with chalf inftead of \vhe:it.

In a very ancient fyftem, love and ftrife were
made the caufes of things. In the Pythagorean and
Platonic fyilem, matter, ideas and an intelligent
mind. By Aristotle, matter, form and privati-
on. Dcs Cartes thought that matter and a certain
quantity of motion given at firft by the iMmighty,
are fufficient to account for all the phccnomena of the
natural world. Leibnitz, that the univcrfeis made
up of monades, active and percipient, which, bv
their active power received at firft, produce all the
changes they undergo.

While

270 ESSAY IV. Chaf. IIL

While men thus wandered in the dark in fearch
of caulbs, unwilling to confers their difappointment,
they vainly conceived every thing they (tumbled up-
on to be a caufe, and the proper notion of a caufe
is loll, by giving the name to numberlefs things
which neither are nor can be caufes.

This confufion of various things under the name
of caufes, is the more eafily tolerated, becaufe how-
ever hurtful it may be to found philofophy, it has
little intiuence upon the concerns of life. A con-
ftant antecedent, or concomitant of the phasnome-
non whofe caufe is fought, may anfwer the purpofe
of the enquirer, as well as if the real caufe were
known. 'Ihus a failor defires to know the caufe of
the tides, that he may know when to expe6l high
water : He is told that it is high water when the
moon is fo many hours paft the meridian : And now
he thinks he knows the caufe of the tides. What
he takes for the caufe anfwer^ his purpofe, and his
miftake does him no harm.

Thofe philofophers feem to have had the jufteft
views of nature, as well as of the weaknefs of hu-
man underfta-nding, who, giving up the pretence of
difcovering the caufes of the operations of nature,
have applied themfelves to difcover, by obfervation
and experiment, the rules, or laws of nature accord-
ing to which the phacnomcna of nature are produced.

in compliance with cuftom, or perhaps, to grati-
fy the avidity of knowing the caufes of things, we
call the laws of nature caufes and active powers. So
we fpeak of the powers of gravitation, of magne-
tifm, of eleflricity.

We call them caufes of many of the ph^enomena
of nature ; and fuch they are cileemed by the igno-
rant, a!)d by the half learned.

But thole of juiler difccrnment fee, that laws of
nature are not agents. They are not endowed with
active power, and therefore cannot be caufes in the
proper fcnfe. They are only the rules according to
which the unknown caufe ads.

Thus

OF THE AMBIGUITY OF THOSE WORDS. 271

Thus it appears, that our natural tlcfirc to know
the caufcs of the phenomena of nature, our inabili-
ty to dii'cover them, and the vain theories of Phi-
lofophcrs employed in this fearcli, have made ihc
v/ord caufc^ and the related words, fo ambicz;uous,
and to fignify fo many thingjs of dillcrent natures,
that they have in a manner loft their proper and ori-
ginal meaning, and ) et we have no other words to
cxprefs it.

Kvery thing joined with the efled, and prior to
it, is called its caufe. An inftrument, an occafion,
a reafon, a motive, an end, are called caufes. And
the related words cffcd^ agcnt^ poiuer, are extended
in the fame vacrue manner.

Were it not that the terms caufe and agent have
loft their proper meaning, in the crowd of meanings
that have been given them, we fliould imm.ediately
perceive a contradiction in the terms ncctjjary caufe
and nece/fary agent. And although the loofe mean-
ing of thofe words is authorifed by cuftom, the ar-
biter of language, and therefore cannot be cenfured,
perhaps cannot always be avoided, yet we ought to
be upon our guard, that we be not mifled by it to
conceive things to be the fame which are efl'entially
diflbrent.

To fay that m.an Is a free agent, is no more than
to lay, that In fome inflances he is truly an agent,
and a caufe, and is not merely a<5ted upon as apallive
inftrument. On the contrary, to fay that lie ads
from neccfTiiy, is to fiiy that he does not a-.^ at all,
that he is no agent, and that, for any thing we
know, there is only one agent in the univerfe, who
does every thing that is done, whether it be good
or III.

If this neccfTity be attributed even to the Deity,
the confcqucnce muft be, that there neither is, nor
can be, a caufe at all; that nothing acls, but every
thing is aclcd upon ; nothing moves but every thing
is moved; all is paflion Vvlthout action; all inftru-

ment

272 ESSAY IV. Chap. III.

mcnt without an agent ; and that every thing that
is. or was, or fliali be, has that neceflary exiftcnce in
its fealbn, which we commonly confidcr as the pre-
rog:ative of the Firll: Caufe.

This I take to be the genuine, and the moft tena-
ble lyilem of neceility. It was the fyllem of Spinosa,
though he was not the lirll that advanced it ; for it
is very ancient. And if this fyftem be true, our
reafoning to prove the exiftcncvi of a firft caufe of
every thing that begins to exift, mufl be given up
as fallacious.

li it be evident to the human underftanding,- as I
take it to be. That what begins to exiif mulf have an
efficient caufe, which had power to give or not to
give it exiilence ; and if it be true, that effetfts well
and wifely fitted for the befl purpofes, demonftrate
intelligence, wiidom, and goodnefs, in the efficient
caufe, as well as power, the proof of a Deity from
thefe principles is very eafy and obvious to all men
that can reafon.

If- on the other hand, our belief that every thing
that begins to exift has a caufe, be got only by ex-
perience; and if, as Mr. Hume maintains, the only
notion of a caufe be fomething prior to the effect,
which experience has fhewn to be conftantly con-
joined with fuch an clTecl, I fee not how, from thefe
principles, it is poffible to prove the exiftence of an
iiitelllgent caufe of the univerfe.

Mr. MuME fecms to me to reafon juftly from his
definition of a caufe, when, in the pcrfon of an
Epicurean, he maintains, that wath regard to a caufe
of the univerfe, we can conclude nothing ; becaufe
it is a fingular effect. We have no experience that
fuch elTcCts are always conjoined with lach a caufe.
Nay, the caufe which we aliign to this efFecl, is a
ca 'fe which no man hath feen, nor can fee, and
therefore experience ctnnot inform us that it
has ever been conjoined with any ciTecf. He
feems to mc to reafon juiliy from his definition of a

caufe,

OF THE INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES. 273

caufe, when he maintains, tliat any thing may be the
caufe of any thing ; fince priority and conftant con-
junction is all that can be conceived in the notion
of a caufe.

Another zealous defender of the doclrlne of ne-
ceflity fays, that " A caufe cannot be dcftned to be
" any thing hut fuch previous circumjlances as are con^
*' JhintU fjUo'-jjed by a certain effcci, the conjtancy of the
" refult making us conclude, that there mull be a
" y^^i^V/V/z/ reafon, in the nature of things, why it
*' ihould be produced in thofe circumllances."

This feem:"; to me to be Mr. Hume's" definition of
a caufe in other words, and neither more nor lefs ;
but I am far from thinking that the Author of it
will admit the confequenccs which Mr. Hume draws
from it, however necellary they may appear to
others.

CHAP. IV.

Of the Injluencc of Motives.

1 H E modern advocates for the do6lrinc of ne-
ccffity lay the ftrefs of their caufe upon the influence
of motives.

" Every deliberate action, they fay, muft have a
" motive. When there is no motive on the other
" fide, this motive muft determine the agent :
" When there are contrary motives, the ftrongeft
" muft prevail : We reafon from men's motives to
*' their actions, as we do from other caufcs to their
*' effedts : If man be a free agent, and be not go-
" verned by motives, all his actions muft be mere
" caprice, rewards and punilhmcnts can have no

S " effea,

2.74 E S S A Y IV. Chap. IV.

" eftcct, and fuch a being muft be abfolutely ungo-
" vernable."

In order therefore to underRand diftincdy, in
what fcnfe we arcribe moral liberty to man, it is ne-
cellary to underftand what influence we allow to
raotives. To prevent miiunderftanding, which has
been very common upon this point, I offer the fol-
lowing: obfervations :

I. 1 grant that ail rational beings are influenced,
and ought-to be influenced by motives. But the in-
fluence Di motives is of a very difi'erent nature from
tliat of efficient caufcs. They are r.either caufes nor
agents. They fuppofe an eilicient caufe, and can do
nothing without it. We cannot, without abfurdi-
ty, fuppofe a motive, either to a<5t, or to be acted
upoa;.it Ls equally incapable of action and of pafii-
on ; becaufc it is not a thing that exifts, but a thing
that is conceived ; it is what the fchoolmen called
an ens raticuis. Motives, therefore, may ir.fiucnce to
aftion, but they do not aft. They may be compar-
ed io advice, or exhortation, which leaves a man
IHU at liberty. For in vain is advice given when
there is not a p.ovrer either to do, or to forbear
what it recommends. In like manner, motives fup-
pofe liberty in the agent, otlierv.-ife they have no in-
fluence at all.

It is a law of nature, with refpect to matter. That
every motion, and change of motion, is proporti-
onal to the force impreiicd, and in the direction of
that force. The fcheme of necefilty fuppofes a hmi-
lar law to obtain in all the adions of inteJiigent be-
ings ; which, with little alteration, may be exprefled
thus : Fvery a6Hon, or change of a«ftion, in an in-
telligent being, is proportional to the force of nio-
tives impreffed, and in the dire(!:tion of that force.

The law of nature rcfpefting matter, is grounded
upon this principle: 'ihat maUjr ia an inert, inac-
tive fubftance, which docs not adt, but is acted up-
on ; and the law of neceliity muft be grounded up-
W.thc fuppolition, That ;m intelligent being is an

inert,

OF THE INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES. 275

inert, inactive fubuance, avIujIi does not act, but is
aclcd upon.

2. Rational beings, in proportion as they are wife
and good, will act according to the beft motives;
and every rational being, who does otherwife, abufes
hi:; liberty. '1 he niofl perfect being, in every thing
where there is a right and a wrong, a better and a
worfe, always infallibly acts according to the beft
motives, lliii indeed is little elfe than an identical
propofition : For it is a contradicTiion to fay. That a
perfecl: being does what is wrong or unreafonable.
But to fay, that he does not act freely, becaufe he
always does what is beft, is to lay. That the proper
ufe of liberty deftroys liberty, and that liberty con-
fifts only in its abufe.

The moral perfeiftion of the Deity confifts, not
in having no power to do ill, otherwife, as Dr.
Clark juftly obferves, there would be no' ground
to thank him for his goodnefs to us any more than
for his eternity or immenfity ; but his moral per-
feftion confifts in this, that, when he has power to
do every thing, a power which cannot be refilled,
he exerts that power only in doing what is wifeft
and beft. To be fubje^t to necefiity is to have no
power at all ; for power and neceflity are oppoiites.
We grant, therefore, that motives have influence,
fimilar to that of advice or perfuafion ; but t'.is in-
fluence is perfectly confiftent with liberty, and in-
deed fuppofes liberty.

3. Whether every deliberate action muft have a
motive, depends on the meaning we put up.)n the
word deliberate. If, by a deliberate action, we mean
an action wherein motives are weighed, which feems
to be the original meaning of the word, furely there
muft be motives, and contrary motives, otherwife
they could not be weighed, liut if a deliberate ac-
tion means only, as it commonly does, an addon
done by a cool and calm determination of the mind,
■with forethought and will, I believe there are innu-
merable fuch actions dope without a motive.

S 2 This

276 ESSAY IV. Chap. IV.

This muft be appealed to every man's confclouf-
nefs. I do many trilling aci^ions every day, in which,
upon the moft careful reflection, 1 am confcious of
no motive ; and to fay that I may be influenced by
a m.otive of v^hichl am not confcious, is, in the
firfl place, an arbitrary fuppofition without any evi-
dence, and then, it is to fay, that I may be convinced
by an argument which never entered into my
thought.

Cafes frequently occur, in which an end, that is
of fome importance, may be anfwered equally well
by any one of feveral diflerent means. In fuch cafes,
2L man v/ho intends the end finds not the leafl: diffi-
culty in taking one of thefe means, though he be
firmly perfuaded, that it has no title to be preferred
to any of the others.

To fay that this is a cafe that cannot happen, is to
contradicl: the experience of mankind ; for furely a
man who has occafion to lay out a fliilling, or a
guinea, may have two hundred that are of equal
value, both to the giver and to the receiver, any one
of which will anfwer his purpofe equally well. To
fay, that, if fuch a cafe Ihould happen, the man
could not execute his purpofe, is ftill more ridiculous,
though it have the authority of fome of the fchool-
men, who determined, that the afs, between two
equal bundles of hay, would fl:and ftill till it died of
hunger.

If a man could not a6i: without a miotive, he would
have no power at all ; for motives are not in our
power ; and he that has not power over a necefiary
mean, has not power over the end.

That an action, done without any motive, can
neither have merit nor demerit, is much iiififtcd on
by the writers for ncceflity, and triun^phantly, as if
it were the very hinge of the controverfy. i grant
it to be a felf-evidcnt propofition, and 1 knou' no
author that ever denied it.

How

OF THE INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES. 277

How Infi^Tnificnnt foevcr, in moral eftimation, the
actions may be which arc done without any motive,
they are of moment in the queftion coRceniing mo-
ral liberty. For, if there ever was any Heiioii of
this kind, motives are not the fole caufcs of human
actions. And if we liave the power of acting with-
out a motive, that power, joined to a weaker mo-
tive, may counterbalance a Aronger.

.j.. It can never be proved, That when there is a
motive on one fide only, that motive mufl deter-
mine the aclion.

According to the laws of reafoning, the proof is
incumbent on thofe who hold the affirmative ; and I
have never feen a fliadow of arofumcn^. which does
not take for gra^ited the thing in queftion, to wit,
that motives arc the fole caufes o*^ actions.

Is there no fuch thing as wilfulne.,, caprice or
obftinacy, among mankirid .f* li il.cre be not, it is
wonderful that they fhould have names in all lan-
guages. It there be fuch things, a fingle motive, or
even many motives, may be refiilcd.

5. Wlien it is foid, that of contrary motives the
ftrongcH: always prevails, this can neither be afiirm-
cd nor denied with undcrll-indincr, until we know
diftinclly v.'hat is meant by the llrongeft motive.

I do not fmd, thwit thofe who have advanced this
as a felf-evident axiom, have ever attempted to ex-
plain what they mean by the llrongeft motive, or
have given any rule by which we may judge which
of two motives is the ilronfreft.

IIow Ihall vv'c know whether the ftrongcft motive
always prevails, if we know not which is ilrongeft ?
Tiicre niuft be fome teft by which their ftrength is to
be tried, fome balance in which they may be weigh-
ed, otherwife, to fay that the ftrongcft motive al-
v.ays prevails, is to fpeak without any meaning. We
muft tiierefore fearch for this teft or balance, fmce
they v.'ho have laid fo much ftrefs upon this axiom,
have left us wholly in the dark as to its meaning. I

grant,

278 ESSAY IV. Chap. IV.

grant, that when the contrary motives are of the
fame kind, and differ only in quantity, it may be
eafy to lay which ls the ftrongeit. Thus a brihe of
a thoufand pounds is a ftronger motive than a bribe
of a hundred pounds. But when the motives are
of different kinds, as, money and fame, duty and
workiiy intereft, health and ftrength, riches and
honour, by what rule fhall we judge which is the
ffrongeft motive .'*

Either we meafure the ftrength of motives,
merely by their prevalence, or by fome other ftand-
ard diftinct from their prevalence.

If we meafure their ftrength merely by their pre-
valence, and by the ftrongeft motive that prevails,
it will be true indeed that the ftro»gcft motive pre-
vails ; but the propoiition v.'ill be identical, and
mean no more than that the ftrongeft motive is the
ftrongeft m.otive. From this furely no conclufion
can be draAvn.

If it fhould be faid. That by the ftrength of a
motive is not meant its prevalence, but the caufe of
its prevalence ; that we meafure the caufe by theef-
feft, and from the fuperiority of the effeft conclude
the fuperiority of the caufe, as we conclude that to
be the heavieft weight which bears down the fcale :
I anfwer. That, according to this explication of the
axiom, it takes for granted that motives are the
caufcs, and the fole caufcs of aciions. Nothing is
left to the agent, but to be acted upon by the mo-
tives, as the balance is by the weights. I'he axiom
fuppofcs, that the agent does not acl, but is acled
upon ; and, from this fuppofition, it is concluded
that he does not aft. This is to reafon in a circle,
or rather it is not reafoning but begging the quef-
tion.

Contrary motives may very properly be compared
to advocates pleading the oppolite fides of a caufe at
the bar. It would be very weak reafoning to fay,
that fuch an advocate is the moll powerful pleader,

becaufe

OF THE INFLUENCEOF MOTIVES. 27.9

hecaufe fentence was f^Jven on his fide. The fen-
tcncc is in the power ot the judge, not of the ad-
vocate. It. is equally weak reLifoning, in proof of
necefllty, to fay, fuca a motive prevailed, titsreforc
it is the ftrongeft ; fiiicc the defenders of liberty
maintain that the detcrir.iru;non was inade by the
man, and not by the motive.

We are iherci'ore brought to this ifTue, that un-
lefs fome meafurc of the ftrenr^th of motives can be
found diftinct from their prevalence, it cannot be
determined, whetlier the iirougeft motive al\vayr>
prevails or not. If fuch a meafure can be found and
applied, we may be able tn judge of the truth of
this maxim, but not oiherv/ife.

Every thing that can be called a motive, is ad-
drefled either to the animal or to the rational part of
our nature. Motives of the former kind are com-
mon to us with the brutej ; thofe of the latter are
peculiar to rational beings. We fhall beg leave, for
diftinclion's fake, to call the former, an'unal motives,
and tlie latter, rational.

Hunger is a motive in a dog to eat; fo is it in a
man. vVccording to the fireiigth of the appetite, it
gives a Ilronger or a weaker impulfe to eat. And
the fame thing may be f lid of every other appetite
and pallion. Such animal motives give an impulfe
to the agent, to which he yields with eaf^ ; and, if
the impulfe be ftrong, it cannot be refilled without
an effort wluch requires a greater or a lefs degree of
felfcommand. Such motives are not addrelfed to
the rational powers. Their inRuence is immediate-
ly upon the will. We feel their influence, andt juilp^e
of their ftrength, by the confcious elfort which is
ivjccifary to refill them.

When a man is aclcd upon by contrary motives of
this kind, he fmds it eafy to yield to the llrongelh
They are like two forces pulhing him in contrary
directions. To yield to the Itrongeft, he needs only
to be pafHve. By exerting his ov/n force, he may

i-eliil J

28o ESSAY n^ Chap. IV.

refift ; but this requires an effort of which he
is confcious. The flrength of motives of this
kind is perceived, not by our judgment, but
by our feeling; and that is the flrongeic of contrary
motives, to which he can yield with eafe, or which
it requires an effort of fclf-command to refift ; and
this we may call the animal icji of the flrength of
motives.

If it be afked, Vvdiether, in motives of this kind,
the ftrongcft always prevails ? I would anfwer, That
in brute-animals I believe it does. They do not ap*
pear to have any felf-command; an appetite or paiiion
in them is overcome only by a ftronger contrary one.
On this account, they are not accountable for their
actions, nor can they be the fubjedts of law.

But in men who are able to exercife their rational
powers, and have any degree of felf-command, the
ftrongeft animal motive does not always prevail.
The flefh does not always prevail againft the fpirit,
though too often it does. And if m.en were neceffa-
rily determined by the ftrongeft animal motive, they
could no more be accountable, or capable of being
governed by law, than brutes are.

Let us next confider rational motives, to which
the aame of motive is more commonly and more pro-
perly given. Their influence is upon the judgment,
by convincing us that fuch an aclion ought to be
donev that it is our duty, or conducive to our real
good, or to fome end which we have determined to
purfue.

They do not give a blind impulfe to the will as
animal motives do. They convince, but they do
not impel, unlefs, as may often happen, they excite
fome pafiion of hope, or fear, or defire. Such paf-
fions may be excited by conviclion, and may ope-
rate in its aid as other animal motives do. But there
may be conviclion without paffion ; and the con-
viclion of what we ought to do, in order to fome
end which we have judged fit to be purfued, is what
I call a rational motive.

Brutes,

OF THE INFLUENCE OF MCTFVTS. 281

Brutes, I tliink, cannot be influenced by fuch mo-
tives. They have not the conception of on^ht and
ought not. Children acquire thele conceptions as
their rational powers advance ; and they arc found
in all of ripe age, who have tlie human faculties.

If there be any competition between rational mo-
tives, it is evident, that the ftrongeft, in the eye of
rcafon, is that which it is m.oft our duty and our
real happincfs to follow. Our duty and our real
happinels are ends which are infeparable ; and they
are the ends which every m/an, endowed with rcafon,
is confcious he ought to purfue in preference to all
others. This we may call the rnticiial tejl of the
ftrength of motives. A motive which is the ftrongcft,
according to the animal ted, may be, and very often
is the wcakeft according to the rational.

The grand and the important competition of con-
trary motives is between the animal, on the one
hand, and the rational on the other. This is the
conliiil betv.cen the fleih and the fpirit, upon the
event of which the character of men depends.

If it be alked, which of thefe is the ftrongeft mo-
tive : The anfwer is, That the firfl is commonly
Ihongeft, when they are tried by the animal teft. If
it were not fo, human life would be no ftate of trial.
It would not be a warfare, nor would virtue require
any effort or felf-command. No man would have
any temptation to do v/rong. But, when we try the
contrary motives by the rational teft, it is evident,
that the rational motive is always the ftrongeft.

And now, I think, it appears, that the ftrongeft
motive, according to cither of the tefts 1 have men-
ti(Mied, does not always prevail.

In every wife and virtuous aflion, the motive that
prc\ .ills is the ftrongeft according to the rational teft,
but commonly the weakeft according to the animal.
In ever)' foolifti, and in every vicious a61ion, the
motive tliat prevails is commonly the ftrongeft ac-
cording to the animal teft, but always the weakeft
according to the rational.

6. It

z32 ESSAY IV. Cmap. IV.

6. It is true, that v/e reafon from men's motives
to their actions, and, in many cafes, with great pro-
bability, but never with abfolute certainty. And to
infer from this, that men are neccifarily determined
by motives, is very weak reafon ing.

For let us fuppofe, for a moment, that men have
moral liberty, I would alk, v/liat ufe may they be
expected to make of this liberty ? It may furely be
expelled, that, of the various actions within the
fphere of ther power, they will chufe what pleafes
them moft for the prefent, or vvhat appears to be mod
for their real, though diihmt good. When there is
a competition between thefe motives, the foolilli will
prefer prefent gratification ; the wife the greater and
more diftant good.

Novi', is not this the very way in which wc fee
men acl ? Is it rot from the prefumptioii that they
act in this way, that we reafon from their motives
to their adions ? Surely it is. Is it not weak reafon-
iiig, therefore, to argue, that men have not liberty,
becaufe they acf in that very way in which they would
aO- if they had liberty ? It would furely be more like
reafoning to draw the contrary conclufion from the
fam.e premifes.

7. Nor is it better reafoning to conclude, that, if
men are not necefl'arily determ.ined by motives, ail
their actions muft be capricious.

To refill the itrongeft animal motives when duty
requires, is fo far from being capricious, that it is,
in the highcft degree, wife and virtuous. And we
hope this is often done by good men.

To act asfainft rational motives, muft alv^avs be
foolifh, vicious, or capricious. And, it cannot be
denied, that there are too many fuch a61ions done.
But is it rcafonable to conclude, tliat becaufe liberty
may be abufed by the fooliih and the vicious, tlicre-
fore it can never be put to its proper ufe, which is to
a6t wifclv and virtuoully .•*

8. It

OF THE INFLUENCE OF MCmVES. ^STj

8. If is equally iinreafonable to conclude, That if
men arc not neccliaiily determined by motives, re-
wards and puniilin^ents would have no effccl:. AVith
wife men they v/iil have their due effect ; but not
always with the foolifli and tlie vicious.

Let us coniuler what efle^^ rewards and purifh-
ments do really, and in fact, produce, aiid whiit may
be inferred from that effect, upon each of the oppo-
file fyfrems of liberty and of neccfiity.

I take it for granted that, in faiSt, the beft and
uifefi: laws, both human and divide, are often tranf-
grefled, notwithftanding the rewards and punifli-
inents that are annexed to them. If any man fliould
deny this fad, 1 know not hov/ to rcafon with
him.

From this fafl, it may be inferred Mith certainty,
upon the fuppofition of neceflity. That, in every in-
ftance of tranfL^refPion, the motive of reward or pu-
nifhment was not of fufficient ftrength to produce
obedience to the law. This implies a fault in the
lav/iriver : but there can be no fault in the tranfyref-
for, who acts mechanically by the force of motives.
We might as well impute a fault to the balance, when
it docs not raife a weight of tv/o pounds by the force
of one pound.

Upon the fuppofirion of neceflity, there can be
neither reward nor punillimcnt, in the proper fenfe,
as thole words imply good and ill defcrt. Reward
and puniflimcnt are only tools employed to produce
a mechanical eflc^l. When the effect is; not produced,
the tool muft be unfit or v/rong applied.

Upon the fuppofition of liberty, rewards and pu-
niflimcnts will have a proper efl'e(^l upon the wife and
the good ; but not fo upon the foolifli and the vici-
ous, when oppofed by their animal paflions or bad
habits ; and this is jull what we fee to be the facl.
ITpon this fuppofition the tranfgrefTion of the law
implies no defe(^t in the l;iw, no fault in the lawgiver;
thtf fault is folely in the tranfgrcflbr. And it is upon

this

264 ESSAY IV. Chap. V.

this fuppofilion only, that there can be either reward
or punifhment, in the proper fenfe of the words,
becauie it is only on this fuppofition, that there can
be good or ill defert.

CHAP. V.

Liberty conjljlent ivith Goi'ernment.

VV HEN it is faid that liberty would make us ab-
folutely ungovernable by God or man ; to under-
ftund the ftrength of this conclulion, it is neceflary
to know diftinclly what is meant by government.
There are two kinds of government, very different
in their nature. The one we may, for diftinftion's
fake, call mechanical government, the other r.iorciL
The firft is the government of beings which have no
aclive power, but are merely paflive and acted upon ;
the fecond, of intelligent and aciive beings.

An inftance of mechanical government may be that
of a mafter or commander of a fhip at fea. Suppo-
{\^.<^ her Ikilfully built, and furniiiied with every thing
proper for the deftined voyage, to govern her pro-
perly for this purpofe requires much art and auen-
tion : And, as every art has its rules, or laws, {o
has this. But by whom are thofe laws to be obeyed,
or thofe rules obferved ? not by the fhip, furely, for
fhe is an inactive being, but by the governor. A.
tailor may fay that fhe does not obey the rudder ;
and he has a diRindl meaning when he fliys fo, and
is perfeftly undcrilood. But he means not obedience
in the proper, but in a metaphorical fenfe : For, in
the proper fenfe, the fnip can no more obey the rud,
der, than Ihe can crivc a command. Every motion

both'

LIBERTY CONSISTENT with GOVERNMENT. 285

both of the fliip and rudder, is cxaclly proportioned
to the force imprcflbd, and in the direction of that
force. Tlic fliip never difobey > the laws of motion,
even in the metaphorical fenfe j and they are the
only laws fhe can be fubje(5i: to.

The failor, perhaps, curfes her for not obeying the
rudder ; but this is not the voice of reafon, but of
paffion, like that of the lofing gamefter, when he
curfes the dice. The fliip is as innocent as the
dice.

Whatever may happen during the voyage, what-
ever maybe its iirue, the ihip, in the eye of reafon,
is neither an gbjefl of approbation nor of blame ;
becaufe fhe does not act, but is adted upon. If the
material, in any part, be faulty ; Who put it to that
ufe ? If the form ; Who made it ? If the rules of
navisfation were not obferved : Who tranfcrreffed
them ? If a ftorm occafioncd any difaftcr, it was no
more in the power of thcfiiip than of the mafter.

Another inftance to illuftratc the nature of mecha-
nical govcrnm.cnt may be, That of the man v.ho
makes and exhibits a puppet-fliow. The puppets, in
all their diverting gciliculatioiis, do not move, but
arc moved by an impulib fecrctly conveyed, which
they cannot refift. If they do not play their parts
properly, the fault is only in the m.aker or manap:cr
of the machinery. Too m.uch or too little force was
applied, or it was wrong directed. No rcafonablc
man imputes cither praife or blame to the puppets,
but folcly to their maker or their governor.

If we fuppofe for a moment, the puppets to be en-
dowed \\ith underftanding ar.d will, but without
any degree of atllive power, this will make no change
in the nature of their government : For underftand-
ing and will, without fome degree of aclivc power,
can produce no c^cH. They niight, upon this fjp-
pofition, be called intelligent tnachincs ; but they would
be machines ftill as much fubjcci to the laws of mo-
tion as inanimate matter, and therefore incapab.c of
any other than m.echanical government.

Let

286 ESSAY IV. Chap. V.

Let us next confidcr the nature of moral govern-
nicnt. This i? the government of perfons who have
reafon and active power, and have laws prefcribed
to them for their conducl:, by a legillator. Their
obedience is obedience in the proper fenfe ; it muui
therefore be their own ac5l and deed, and confequent-
ly they m.ufl have power to obey or to difobey. To
prefcribe laws to them which they have not power to
pbey, or to require a fervice beyond their power,
would be tyranny and injuftice in the higheil
dex^ree.

when the laws are equitable, and prefcribed by
jufc authority., they produce moral obligation in
thofe that are fubject to them, and difobedience is a
crime deferring punifhmeiit. But if the obedience
be impoffibie ; if the tranfgreflion be necefPary ; it
is felf-evident, that there can be no moral obligation
to what is impofiible, that there can be no crime in
yielding to necefR'-y, and that there can be no juflice
in punifliing a perfon for what it was not in his
power to avoid. There are firft principles in morals,
and, to every unprejudiced mind, as felf-evident as
the axioms of mathematics. The whole fcience of
morals muft ftand or fall with them.

Having thus explained the nature both of mecha-
nical and of moral government, the only kinds of
government I am able to conceive, it is eafy to fee
how far liberty or necefTity agrees with either.

On the one hand, I acknowledge that neceility
agrees perfeftly with mechanical government. This
kind of government is moft pcrfedl when the gover-
nor is the fole agent ; every thing done is the doing
oi" the governor only. The praife of every thing
well done is his folely ; and his is the blame if there
be any thing ill done, becaufe he is the fole agent.

It is true that, in common language, praife or
difpraife is often metaphorically given to the work ;
but, in propriety, it belongs folely to the author.
Every workman underllauds this perfectly, and

takes

LIBERTY CONSISTENT n^th GOVERNMENT. 287

takes to himfclf vcryjurdy the praife or difpraife of
hii own work.

On the other hand, it is no lefs evident, that, on
tlic luppoiition of ncceility in the governed, there
can be no moral 'jovernment. There can be neither
v/iidoni nor equity in prelcribinfr laws that cannot
h& obeyed. Ihere can be no moral obligation upon
beings that have no aci:ive power, 'i'here can be no
crime in not doinej what it was imnofiihle to do ; nor
can there bejuftice in punifliing I'uch omiflion.

If we apply thefc theoretical principles to the kinds
of goverriment which do attualiy exiit, wheihcr
human or divine, we fhall hnd that, among men,
even mechanical government is impcrfecl.

Men d(0 not make tlie matter they work upon.
Its various kinds, and the qualities belonging to each
kind, are the work of God. The laws of nature,
to v.'hich it is fubjccfi:, are the work of God. Ihe
motions of the atmofphcrc and of the fea, the heat
and cold of the air, the rain and wind, which are
ul'eful inftruments in molt human operations, are
not in our power. So that, in all the mechanical
productions of men, the work is more to be afciibed
to G(M3 than to man.

Civil government among men is a fpccies of mo-
ral government, but imperfed, as its liwgivei's and
its judges are. Human laws may be unwife or un-
juft ; human judges may be partial or unfiiilful.
But in ail equitable civil governments, the maxims
of moral government above mentioned, are acknow-
ledged as rules which ought never to be violated.
Indeed the rules of juftlce are fo evident to all men,
that the moit tyrannical governments profefs to be
guiiled by them, and endeavour to palliate what is
contrary to tlicm by the plea of neccjlity.

Tliat a man cannot be under an obligation to what
is impolFible ; that he cannot be criminal in yielding
to necefiity, nor juOly punilhed for what he could
not avoid, are maximi admitted, in all criminal
courts, as fundamental rulej of juilicc.

288 ESSAY IV. Chap. V.

In oppofition to this, it has been faid by fome of
the moil able defenders of necefiity, That hui-nan
laws require no more to conlHtute a crime, but that
it be voluntary ; whence it is inferred that the cri-
minality confifts in the determination of the will,
whether that determination be free or neceffary.
This, I think indeed, is the only polTible plea by
which criminality can be made confiiient with necef-
iity, and therefore it deferves to be confidered.

I acknowledge that a crime muft be voluntary ;
for, if it be not voluntary, it is no deed of the man,
nor can be juftly imputed to him ; but it is no lefs
neceffary that the criminal have moral liberty. In
men that are adult, and of a found mind, this liber-
ty is prefumed. But in every cafe where it cannot
be prefumed, no criminality is imputed, even to
voluntary a(^tions.

This is evident from the following inftances : Firji^
The actions of brutes appear to be voluntary ; yet
they are never conceived to be criminal, though
they may be noxious. Secondly, Children in nonage
act voluntarily, but they are not chargeable with
crimes. Thirdly, Madmen have both underftanding
and will, but they have not moral liberty, and
therefore are not chargeable with crimes. Fourthly,
Even in men that are adult, and of a found mind,
a motive that is thought irrefiftible by any ordinary
degree of felf-command, fuch as the rack, or the
dread of prefent death, cither exculpates, or very
much alleviates a voluntary aclion, which, in other
circumllances, would be highly criminal ; whence
it is evident, that if the motive were abfolutely ir-
refiftible, the exculpation would be complete. So
far is it from being true in itfelf, or agreeable to
the common fenfe of mankind, that the criminality
of an aclion depends folely upon its being vo-
luntary.

The government of brutes, fo far as they are
fubjecl to man, is a fpecies of mechanical govern-
ment,

LIBERTY CONSISTENT with GOVERNMENT. iT.c)

nient, or fomething very like to it, and has no re-
femblancc to moral government. As inanimate
matter is governed ])y our knowledge of the quali-
ties wiiich Gou hatli given to the various producti-
ons oF nature, and our knowledge of the laws of
nature wliicli lie hath eitabliflied ; fo brute-animals
are governed by our knowledge of the natural in-
ilincis, appetites, affections and pallions, which God
hath given them. By a fkilful application of thefe
Springs of their actions, they may be trained to
many habits ufeful to man. After all, we find that,
from caufes unknown to us, not only fome fpecies,
but fome individuals of the fame fpecies, are more
tracfable than others.

Children under age are governed mucli in the
fame way as the moft fagacious brutes. The open-
ing of their intelleclual and moral powers, which
may be much aided by proper inftruclion and exam-
ple, is that which makes them by degrees, capable
of moral government.

R.eafon teaches us to afcribe to tlie Supreme Being
a government of the inanimate and inacHive part of
liis creation, analogous to that mechanical govern-
ment which men exercife, but infinitely more per-
fect. This, 1 think, is what we call God's natural
government of the univerfe. In this part of the
divlnego\ernmeut, whatever is done is God's doing.
He is the fole caufc, andthe fole agent, w^hether he
act immediately, or by inftruments fubordinate to
him ; and his will is always done : For inilruments
are not caufes, they are not agents, though we lome-
timcs improperly call them fo.

It is therefore no Icfs agreeable to reafon, than to
the language of holy writ, to impute to the Deity
whatever is done in the natural world. When we
fay of any thing, tliat it is the work of nature, this
is laying that it: is the work of Gou, and can have

no other nieaninir.

T The

29* ESSAY IV. Chap. V.

The natural world is a grand machine, contrived,
made, and governed by the wifdom and power of
the Almighty : And if there be in this natural world,
beings that have life, intelligence, and will, without
any degree of active pov/er, they can only be fubjccl:
to the fame kind of mechanical government. Their
determinations, v*'hcther we call them good or ill,
mull be the a^^iions of the Supreme Being, as much
as the productions of the earth : P'or, life, intelli-
gence, and will, without active power, can do no-
thing, and therefore nothing can juftly be imputed
to it.

This grand machine of the natural world, dif-
plays the power and wifdom of the artificer. But
in it, there can be no difplay of moral attributes,
which have a relation to moral conduct in his crea-
tures, fuch as juftice and equity in rewarding or pu-
nifhino;, the love of virtue and abhorrence of wick-
ednefs : For, as every thing m it is God's domg,
there can be no vice to be puniflied or abhorred, no
virtue in his creatures to be rewarded.

According to the fyllem of neceflity, the whole
univerfe of creatures is this natural world ; and of
every thing done in it, God is the fole agent. There
can be no moral government, nor moral obligation.
Lavv's, revv^ards, and punilhments, are only mecha-
nical engines, and the will of the lawgiv^cr is obeyed
as much when his laws are tranfgrelTed, as when
they are obferved. Such muft be our notions of
the government of the w^orld, upon the fuppofition
of neceflity. It muft be purely mechanical, and
there can be no moral government upon that hy-
pothefis.

Let us confider, on the other hand, what notion
of the divine government we are naturally led intu
by the fuppofition of liberty.

They Vv^ho adopt this fyftem conceive, that iti tiuu
fmall portion of the univerfe which falls under our
%dew, as a great part has no active power, but

moves.

LIBERTY CONSISTENT wi ni GOVERNMENT. 291

moves, as it is moved, by neceflity, and therefore
muft be fubjecl to a mechanical government, fo it
has pleafed the Almi^^hty to bcftow upon fome of his
creatures, particularly upon man, fome decree of
active power, and of reafon, to direct him to the
right ufe of his power.

What connection there may be, in the nature of
things, between reafon and active power, we know
not. But we fee evid^^ntly that, as reafon without
active power can do nothing, fo active power with-
out reafon has no guide to direft it to any end.

Thefe two conjoined make moral liberty, which,
in how fmall a degree foever it is poffeiTed, raifes man
to a fupericr rank in the creation of God. He is
not merely a tool in the hand of the mafter, but a
fervant, in the proper fenLC, who has a certain truft,
and is accountable for the difchargre of it. Within
thefphere of his pov/er, he has a fubordinate domi-
nion or government, and therefore may be faid to
be made after the image of God, the Supreme Go-
vernor. But as his dominion is fubordinate, he is
under a moral obligation to make a right ufe of it,
as far as the reafon which Goo hath given him can
direct him. When he docs fo, he is a juit obje6t of
moral approbation ; and no lefs an object of difap-
probation and jult punilhment when he abufes the
power with which he is entrufled. And he muft
finally render an account of the talent committed
to him, to the fupremc Governor and righteous
Judge. ^

This is the moral government of God, which, far
from being iaconfiltent with liberty, fuppofes liber-
ty in thofc that are fubject to it, and can extend no
farther than that liberty extends ; for accountable-
nefs can no more agree with neceflity than light v/ith
darknefs.

It ought likewife to be obfcrved, that as active
power in man, and in every created being, is the
gift of God, it depends entirely on his pleafure for

T 2 its

292 ESSAY IV. Chap. V.

its exiflence, its degree aiid its continuance, and
therefore can do nothing; which he does not Ice fit to
permit.

Our power to act does not exempt us from being
aclcd upon, and reftrained or compelled by a fupe-
rior powTr ; and the power of God is always fupe-
rior to that of man.

It would be great folly and prefumption in us to
pretend to know all the ways in which the govern-
ment of the Supreme Being is carried on, and his
purpofes accompliflied by men acting freely, and
having difFerent or oppofite purpofes in their view.
For, as the heavens are high above the earth, fo are
his thoughts above our thoughts, and his ways above
our ways.

That a man m.ay have great influence upon the
voluntary determinations of other men, by means
of education, example and perfuafion, is a fact which
mufl be granted, whether we adopt the fyftem of li-
berty or neceflity. How far fuch determinations
ought to be imputed to the perfon who applied thofe
means, how far to the perfon influenced by them,
v/e know not, but God knows, and will judge
righteoufly.

But what I would here obferve ir,. That if a man
of fuperior talents may have fo great influence over
the actions of his fellow-creatures, without taking
away their liberty, it is furely reafonable to allow a
much ofreater influence of the fame kind to him wdio
made man. Nor can it ever be proved, that the-
wifdom and power of the Almighty arc infuflicient
for governing free agents, fo as to aufwer his pur-
pofes.

He who made man may have ways of governing
his determinations, confiilent with moral liberty, of
whicli we have no conception. And he who gave
this liberty freely, may lay any reftraint upon it that
is r.eceflliry for anlwerin^ his wife and benevolent
purpofes. The juftice ot his government requires,

that

FIRST A R G U M i: N T.

293

that his creatures fhould be accountable only for
what they have received, and not for what was ne-
ver eutrulled to them. And we are furc that the
judocc of all the earth will do what is riirht.

Thus, I think, it appears, that, upon the fuppo-
ficion of necelliry, there can be no moral govern-
ment of the univerfe. Its government muil be per-
fectly mcclranical, and every thing done in it, whe-
ther good or ill, mui]: be God's doing ; and that,
upon the fuppolkion of liberty, there may be a
perfe^l: moral government of the univerfe, confif-
tent with his accomplifhing all his purpofes, in its
creation and government.

The arguments to prove tliat man is endowed with
moral liberty, v/hich have the greatcfc weight with
me, are three. I'irji, Becaufe he has a natural convic-
tion or belief, that, in many cales, he acls freely ;
/hof!'//y, Becaufe he is accountable ; and, ^/'/n//v, Be-
caufe he is able to profecuie an end by a long feries
of means adapted to it.

C II A P. Vi.

Fir/i Argument,

vV E liavc, by our conilitution, a natural convic-
tion or belief that we act freely : A convidion lo
early, ft) univerlal and \o neceiiary in moil of our
rational operations, that it nmll l>e the rcfult of our
conilitution, and the work of him tliat made us.

Some of the moft ftrcnuous advocates for the doc-
trine of necellity acknowledge that it is innx)llibb
to act upon it. f hey fay that wc have a natural knfe
or con\ iclion that vvc asft freely, but that tiiis is a
tallacioub fenfe.

Tliis

294 ESSAY IV. Chap. VI.

This doftrine is difhonourable to our Maker, and
lays a foundation for univerfal fcepticifin. It fup-
pofes the Author of our being to have given us one
faculty on purpofe to deceive us, and another by
which we miy detect the fallacy, and find that he
impofed upon us.

If any one of our natural faculties be fallacious,
there can be no reafon to truft to any of them ; for
he that made one made all.

The genuine dictate of our natural faculties is the
voice of God, no lefs than what he reveals from hea-
ven ; and to fay that it is fallacious is to impute a lie
to the God of truth.

If candour and veracity be not an eflential part of
moral excellence, there is no fuch thing as moral ex-
cellence, nor any reafon to rely on the declarations
and promifes of the Almighty. A man may be tempt-
ed to lie, but not without being confcious of guilt
and of meannefs. Shall we impute to the Almighty
what we cannot impute to a man without a heinous
affront ?

Pafiing this opinion, therefore, as {hocking to an
ingenuous mind, and, in its confequences, fubverfive
of all religion, all morals, and all knowledge, let us
proceed to confider the evidence of our having a na-
tural conviction that we have fome degree of active
power.

The very conception or idea of active power muft
be derived from fomething in our own conftitution.
It is impollible to account for it otherwife. We fee
events, but we fee not the power that produces
them. We perceive one event to follow another,
but we perceive not the chain that binds them to-
gether. The notion of power and caufation, there-
fore, cannot be got from external obje<fts.

Yet the notion of caufes, and the belief that eve-
ry event muft have a caufe which had power to pro-
duce it, is found in every human mind fo firmly
eftablifhed, that it cannot be rooted out.

This

r I R S T ARGUMENT. 295

This notion and this belief muft have its origin
from fouietliin^; in our conilitution ; and that it is
natural to man, appears from the following obfer-
vations.

1. We are confcious of many voluntary exertions,
fome eafy, others more diilcult, fome requiring a
great effort. Thefe are exertions of power. And
though a man may be unconfcious of his power
whe.i he does not exert it, he muil have both the
conception and the belief of it, when he knowingly
and willingly exerts it, with intention to produce
fome effci^t,

2. Deliberation about an action of moment, whe-
ther we (hall do it or not, implies a conviction that,
it is in our power. To deliberate about an end, we
niuO; be convinced that the means are in our power ;
and to deliberate about the means, we muft be con-
vinced that we have power to chufe the moft pro-
per.

3. Suppofe our deliberation brought to an iffue,
and th.it we refolve to do what appeared proper. Can
we form fuch a refolulioa or purpofe. M^thout any
conviction or power to execute it ? No, it is inipof-
fible. A maji cannot relblve to lay out a fum of
money, which he neither has, nor hopes ever to
have.

.;. Again, when I plight my faith in any promife
or contract, I muft believe that I fliall have power
t') perform what I promife. Without this perfuali-
on, a promife would be downright fraud.

There is a condition implied in every promife, if
ive live^ and /y Gou continue ivith us the poicer zohich he
hath gii-en us. Our convicSlion, therefore, of this
power derogates not in the leaft from our depen-
dence upon God. The rudeft fwage is taught by
nature to admit this condition in all promifes whe-
tlier it be expreffed or not. For it is a dictate of com-
mon fcnfe, that Vv-'e can be under no obligation to
do what it is impoiTible for us to do.

296 ESSAY IV. Chap. VI.

If wc acl upon the i'yftcm of nccefTity, there muft
be another condition implied in all delibenition, in
every refolution, and in every promife ; 2nd that
is, if zue Jhall be tuiil'nig. But the will not being in
our power, we cannot engage for it.

If this condition be underilood, as it mud be un-
derftood if we acl upon the fyftem of neceflity there
can be no deliberation, or refolution, nor any obli-
gation in a promife. A man might as well deliber-
ate, refolve and prom»ife, upon the actions of other
men as upon his own.

It is no lefs evident, that we have a conviclion of
power in other men, when we advife, or pcrfuadc,
or command, cr conceive them to be under obliga-
tion by their promifes.

5. Is it pollible for any man to blame himfelf for
yielding to necefiity ? Then he may blame him.felf
for dying, or for being a man. Elame fuppofcs a
wrong ufe of power ; and when a man does as well
as it was pofiible for him to do, wherein is he to be
blamed ? Therefore all conviclion of wrong conduct,
all remorfe and felf-condemnation, imply a convic-
tion of our power to have done better. Take away
this convidion, and there may be a fenfe of mifery,
or a dread of evil to come, but there can be no fcnfc
of guilt or refolution to do better.

Many who hold the doclrine of neceflity difown
thefe confequences of it, and think to evade them.
To fuch they ought not to be im.puted ; but their
infeparable connection with that doctrine appears
felf-evident : And therefore fome late patrons of it
have had theboldnefs to avow them. " They cannot
" accufe themfclves of havina; done any thiuGf wronir
" in the ultimate fenfe of the words. In a ftrict
*' fenfe, they have nothing to do with repentance,
" confeiTion and pardon, thefe being adapted to a
" fallacious view of things."

Thofe w^ho can adopt thefe icntiments, may in-
deed celebrate, with high encomiums, the great and

glorious

FIRST A R G U M E N T. 297

glorious dodrine of necejjtt'}. It rcftorcs them, in their
own conceit, to the Ihite oF innocence. It delivers
them from all the panj^s of guilt and remorfe, and
from all fear about their future conducf , though not
about their fafe. They may be as fecure that they
Ihall do nothing wrong, as thofe who have fmilhcd
their courfe. A doctrine fo flattering to the mind
of a finner is very apt to give firength to weak ar-
guments.

After all, it is acknowledged by thofe who boaft
of this glorious doclrine, " That every man, let
" him ufe what elTorts he can, will neceilarily feel
" the fentinients of Ihame, remorfe, and repentance,
*' and, opprefled with a fenfe of guilt, will have re-
" courfe to that m.ercy of which he ftands in need.'*

The meaning of this feems to me to be. That al-
though the doctrine of neceflity be fupported by in-
\'inciblc arguments, and though it be the moil: con-
folatory doctrine in the world ; yet no man, in his
moft ferious moments, when he fifls himfelf before
the throne of his Maker, can poilibly believe it, but
mull: then neceilarily lay afide this glorious doctrine,
and all its flattering confequences, and return to the
humiliating conviction of liis having made a bad ulc
of the power which God h.ad given him.

It the belief of our having active power be ne-
cefllirily implied in thofe rational operations we have
mentioned, it muft be coeval with our reafon ; it
mull be as univerlal among men, and as necelfary
in the conduct of life, as thofe operations are.

\\ ^l cannot recollect by memory when it began.
It cannot be a prejudice of education, or of fall'e
philofophy. It mult be a part of our conllitution,
or the neceilary refult of our conititution, and
therefore the work of Gon.

It refembles, in this refpect, our belief of the ex-
iitence oF a material world ; our belief that thole
we convcrfe with are living and intelligent beings j
our beiicf that thofe things did really happen which

298 ESSAY IV. Chap. VI.

we diftinclly remember, and our belief that we con-
tinue the fame identical perfons.

We find dilliculty in accounting for our belief of
thefe things ; and fome Philofophers think, that they
have difcovered good reafons for throwing it oft'.
But it fticks fail, and the greateft fccptic finds, that
he mufi; yield to it in his practice, while he wages
war with it in fpeculation.

If it be objected to this argument, That the belief
of our acting freely cannot be implied in the opera-
tions v/e have mentioned, becaufe thofe operations
are performed by them who believe, that we are, in
ail our actions, governed by neceflity : The anfwer
to this objection is, That men in their practice may
be governed by a belief which in fpeculation they
reject.

However ftrange and unaccountable this may ap-
pear, there are many w-ell known inftances of it.

I knew a man who was as much convinced as any
man of the folly of the popular belief of apparitions
in the dark, yet he could not fleep in a room alone,
nor go alone into a room in the dark. Can it be
faid, that his fear did not imply a belief of danger ?
This is impofl^ible. Yet his philofophy convinced
him, that he w^as in no more danger in the dark
when alone, than with company.

Here an unreafonable belief, which was merely a
prejudice of the nurfery, ftuck fo fafi: as to govern
his conduct, in oppofition to his fpeculative belief as
a Philofopher and a man of fenfe.

There are few^ perfons who can look down from
the battlement of a very high tow^er without fear,
while their reafon convinces them that they are in
no more danger than when Itanding upon the
ground.

There have been perfons who profefl'ed to believe
that there is no diftin(5tion between virtue and vice,
yet in their practice they refented injuries, and ef-
tccmed noble and virtuous actions.

There

r I r. S T A R G U M E N T. 299

There have been fceptics who profefled to diibe-
lleve their fenfes, and every liumau faculty; but no
iceptic was ever known, who did not, in practice,
pay a regard to his fenfes and to his other faculties.

There arc fome points of belief fo necciTary, that,
v;ithout them, a n^an would not be the being which
God made him. Thefe may be oppofed in fpecula-
tion, but it is inipoflible to root them out. In a
fpecuhitive hour they feem to vanifli, but in practice
they refume their authority. This feems to be the
cafe of thofe who hold the doclrinc of neceflity, and
yet av5t as if they were free.

This natural conviction of fome degree of power
in ourfelves and in other men, refpecls voluntary
aclions only. For as all our power is directed by our
will, we can form no conception of power, proper-
ly fo called, that is not under the direction of will.
And therefore our exertions, our deliberations, our
purpofcs, our promifes, are only in things that de-
pend upon our will. Our advices, exhortations and
commands, are only in things that depend upon the
will of thofe to whom they are addrefled. We im-
pute no guilt to ourfelves, nor to others, in things
where the will is not concerned.

But it deferves our notice, that we do not con-
ceive every thing, without exception, to be in aman's
povv'cr which depends upon his will. There are ma-
ny exceptions to this general rule. The moft obvi-
ous of thefe I (hall mention, becaufe they both fcrve
to illuftrate the rule, and are of importance in the
fjueftion concerning the liberty of man.

In the rage of madncfs, ir.en are abfolutely de-
prived of the power of felf-government. They a<fl
voluntarily, but their will is driven as by atempeft,
uhicii, in lucid intervals, they rcfolve to oppofc
with all their might, but are overcome when the fit
of madnefs returns.

Idiots arc like men walking in the dark, who can-
not be faid to have the power of chufmg their way,

becaufe

300 ESSAY IV. Chap. VL

becaufe they cannot diftinjraifli the £>;ooJ road from
the bad. Having no light in their understanding,
they inu\i either Ik Hill, or be carried on by lome
blind inipuilc.
. Between the darknefs of infancy, which is equal
to that of idiots, and tlie maturity of reafon, there
is a long twilight, which, by infenfibic degrees, ad-
vances to the perfe«fl day.

In this period of life, nnan has but little of the
power of felf-goverr.nicnt. Ilis actions, by nature,
as well as by the laws of fociety, are in the power of
t>thers more than in his own. His folly and indif-
Tretion, his levity and inconftancy, are confidcred
as the fault of youth, rather than of the man. We
confider him as half a man and half a child, and
expect that each by turns fliould play its part. He
would be thought a fevere and unequitable cenfor of
manners, who required the fame cool deliberation,
the fame ileady conduct, and the fame maftery over
himfelf in a boy of thirteen, as in a man of thirty.

It is an old adage, That violent anger is a fhort
fit of madnefs. If this be literally true in any cafe,
a man, in fuch a fit of palnon, cannot be faid to
have the command of himfelf. If real madnefs
could be proved, it muft have the effect of madnefs
while it lalls, whether it be for an hour or for life.
But the madnefs of a fiiort fit of paiiion, if it be
really madnefs, is incapable of proof ; and therefore
IS not admilted in liuman tribunals as an exculpati-
Gn» And, I believe, there is no cafe where a maq
can fatisfy his own mind that his pafuon, botli in its
be'^inning and in its progrefs, was irrefiftible. The
Searcher Of hearts aUmc knows infallibly what al-
loM'ance is due in cafes of this kind.

But a violent pafl'on, though it may not be irre-
fiilible, is diillcuit to be reiiiled : And a man, furcly,
has not the lame power over himfelf in paflion, as
when he is cool. On this account it is allowed by
all men to alleviate, when it cannot exculpate j and,

has

FIRST ARGUMENT. 301

has its weight in criniinal courts, as well as in pri-
vate judgment.

It ought likewife to be obferved, Tliat he who has
accuftcriv.cil hinifclt" to reitrain his paflions, enlarges
by habit his power over them, and coni'equently
over himlelf. When we conhdcr that a Canadian
lavage can ac([uire the power of defying death, in
its moll dreadful forms, and of braving the moil
exquilite torment for many long hours, Mdtliout
lofmg the command of himfclf ; we n\ay learn from
this, that, in the conftitution of human nature,
there is ample fcope for the enlargement of that
power of fclf-command, v. ithout which there can
be no virtue nor magnanimity.

There are cafes, liowever, in which a man's vo-
luntary aftions are thought to be very little, if at
all, in his power, on account of tlie violence of the
motive that impels. The magnanimity of a hero,
or of a martyr, is not expected in every man, and
on all occafions.

If a man trufted, by t!\e government, with a fe-
cret, which it is high treafon to difclofe, be prevail-
ed upon by a bribe, we have no mercy for him, and
hardly allow the greateit bribe to be any alleviation
of his crime.

I)ut, on the other hand, if the fecret be extorted
by the rack, or by the dread of prcfent death, \\-e
pity him more than we blame liim, and would think
it ibvcre and unc(iuitablo to condcriin him as a
trait tu*.

What is the reafon that all men agree in condemn-
ing this man as a traitor in the firil cafe, and in the
lait, either exculpate him, or think his f.iult greatly
alleviated ? If he acted necellarily iii both cafes, com-
pelled by an irrelillible motive, 1 can fee no reafon
why we (hould not pifs tlieftmo judgment on borh.

But the reafon of thefe diHl'crent judgments is
cviilcnlly this, That the love ol nioncy, and of
what is called a man's intercll, i^ a cooi motive,

wiiich

302 ESSAY IV. Chap. VI.

which leaves to a man the entire power over himfelf :
But the torment of the rack, or the dread of pre-
sent death, arc fo violent motives, that men, who
have not uncommon ftrength of mind, are not maf-
tcrs of themftlvcs in fuch a fituation, and therefore
what they do is not imputed, or is thought lefs
criminal.

If a man refill fuch motives, we admire his forti-
tude, and think his conducl heroical rather than
human. If he yields, we impute it to human frail-
ty, and think him rather to be pitied than feverely
cenfured.

Inveterate habits arc acknovv^ledged to diminiih
very con fiderably the power a man has over himfelf.
Although we may think him highly blameable in
acquiring them, yet, when they are confirm.ed to a
certain degree, we confider him as no longer mafter
of himfelf, and hardly reclaimable without a mi-
racle.

Thus we fee, that the power which we are led, by
common fenfe, to afcribe to man, refpecls his vo-
luntary actions only, and that it has various limita-
tions even with regard to them. Some actions that
depend upon our will are eafy, others very difficult,
and fome, perhaps, beyond our power. In different
men, the power of felf-government is different, and
in the lame man at different times. It may be di-
minilhed, or perhaps loll, by bad habits j it may be
greatl}'^ increafed by good habits.

Thefe are tadls attelled by experience, and fup-
ported by the common judgment of mankind. Up-
on the fyftem of liberty, they are perfeclly intelli-
gible ; but, I think, irrcconcileable to that of ne-
ccflity ; for. How can there be an cafy and a diffi-
cult in adlions equally fubjedt to neceihty ? or. How
can power be greater or lefs, increafed or diminilh-
ed, in thofe who have no power ?

This natural convidion of our atling freely,
which is acknowledged by many who hold the doc-
trine

SECOND ARGUMENT. 303

trine oF neceflity, ought to throw the whole bur-
den of proof upon that fide : For, by this, the fide
of liberty has wluit la\\yers call a jus quajiium, or a
right of ancient pofTcflion, which ought to ftand
good till it be overturned. If it cannot be proved
that we always acf from necefTity, there is no need
of arguments on the other fide to convince us that
we are free agents.

To illuftrate this by a fimilar cafe : If a Philofo-
pher would perfuade me, that my fellow-men with
whom I convcrfe, are not thinking intelligent beings,
but mere machines, though I might be at a lofs to
find arguments againfi: this fi:range opinion, I fhould
think it reafonable to hold the belief which nature
gave me before I was capable of weighing evidence,
until convincing proof is brought againft it.

CHAP. VII.
Second Argument.

1 H A T there is a real and eflcntial difi:in(fl:ion be-
tween right and wrong condu6^, between juft and
unjull ; tliat the moft perfecl: moral rectitude is to
be afcribed to the Deity ; that man is a moral and
accountable being, capable of a<5ling right and
wrong, and anfwcrablc for his conduct to him who
made him, and alligncd him a part to acl upon the
ftage of life ; arc principles proclaimed by evcrv
man's confcience; principles upon which the fyftems
of morality and natural religion, as well as the fyf-
tem of revelation, are grounded, and which have
been generally acknowledged by thofe who hold
contrary opinions on the fubjecl of human liberty.
I fliall therefore here lake them for erantcd.

' " Thefc

3=4

ESSAY IV. Chap. VIL

Thefe principles afTord an obvious, and, I think,
an invincible arguir.ent, that man is endowed with
moral liberty.

Two things are implied in the notion of a moral
and accountable being ; underflanding and adiive
power.

I'lrjlj He mufl undcriland the law to which he is
bound, and his obligation to obey it. Moral obedi-
ence mufl: be voluntary, and muft regard the autho-
rity of the law. 1 may command my horfe to eat
when he hungers, and drink when he thirfts. Ke
does fo : but his doino; it is no moral obedience. Ke
does not underftand my command, and therefore
can have no wall to obey it. He has not the con-
ception of moral obligation, and therefore cannot
act from the conviction of it. In eating and drink-
ing he is moved by his own appetite only, and not
by my authority.

Brute-animals are incapable of moral ol)ligatlon,
becaufe they have not that degree of underftanding
which it implies. They have not the conception of
a rule of conducl, and of obligation to obey it, and
therefore, though they may be noxious, they can-
not be criminal.

Man, by Iiis rational nature, is capable both of
underftanding the law that is prefcribed tohim, and
of perceiving its obligation. He knows what it is
to be juil and honcfl, to injure no man, and to obey
Ids Maker. From his coniiitution, he has an immic-
diate conviction of his obligation to thefe things.
He has the approbation of his confcience when he
acts by thefe rules ; and he is confcious of guilt and
demerit when he tranfgreires them. And, without
this knowledge of his duty and his obligation, he
vx'ould not be a moral and accountable being.

Secondly, Another thing impjicdin the notion of a
moral and accountable being, i^ power to do what he
ia accountable for.

That

SECOND ARGUMENT.

3^:

That no man can be under a moral obligation to
do what it is impoillble for him to do, or to forbear
wiiat it is impolTiblc for him to forbear, is an axiom
as felf-cvidcnt as any in mathematics. It cannot be
contradicled, witliout overturning all notion of mo-
ral obligation ; nor can there be any exception to it,
when it is riglitly underftood.

Some moraiifts have mentioned wliat they con-
ceive to be an exception to this maxim. The ex-
ception is this. When a man, by his own fault, has
diiabled hur.felf from doing liis duty, his obligation,
they £iy, remains, though he is now unable to dif-
charge it. Tim^;, if a nian by famptuous living has
become bankrupt, Jiis iir.ibility to pay his debt does
not take away his obligation.

To judge whether, in this and fimilar cafes, there
be any exception to the axiom above-mentioned,
they muli: be Hated accurately.

No doubt a man is Jiiglily criminal in living above
his fortune, and his crime is greatly aggravated by
the circumftance of his being thereby unable to pay
his juft debt. Let us fuppoie, therefore, that he is
punifhed for this crime as much as it defcrves ; that
his goods are fairly diftrihuted among his creditors,
and that one half remains unpaid : Let us fuppofe
alfo, that he adds no new crime to what is pall:, that
he becomes a new man, and not only fupports him-
fclf by honcft induftry, Ivut docs all in his power to
pay what he frill owes.

I would nov/ alk. Is he further punliliable, and
really guilty for not paying more than he is able?
Let every man coufult his copfcience, and fay whe-
ther he canbiame this man for not doing more than
he is able to do. His guilt before his bankruptcy is
out of the queillon, as he lias received the punilh-
ment due for it. But that his fubfequent conduct is
unblameablc, every man muft allow ; and that, in
his prefcnt ILue, he is accountable for no more than

U he

3o6 ESSAY IV. Chap. VII.

he is able to do. Hi:, oblio-ation is not cancelled, it

.1...^ •

rctur-^s with his ability, and can go no farther.

Suppofe a failor, employed in the navy of his
country, and longing for the cafe of a public hofpi-
tal as an invalid, to cut off his fingers, Co as to dif-
ablc him from doing the duty of a iailor ; he is guil-
ty of a great crirjie ; but, after he has been punifli-
cd according to the demerit of his crime, will his
captain infill that he fhall ftill do the duty of a liiilor?
Will he command him to go ak)ft 'ivhen it is impofii-
ble for him to do it, and puniih him as g'jilty of dif-
obedience ? Surely if there be any fuch thing as juf-
tice and injuftice, this would be unjufl and wanton
cruelty.

I^uppofe a fervant, through negligence and inat-
tention, miftakcs the orders given him by his maf-
tcr, and, from this miftake, does what he was or-
dered not to do. It is commonly faid that culpable
ifrnorance does not excufc a fault : This decifion is
inaccurate, becaufc it docs not fhew where the fault
lies : The fault was folely in that inattention, or neg-
ligence, which was the occafion of his miftake :
There was no fubfequent fault.

This becomes evident, when we vary the cafe fo
far as to fuppofe, that he was unavoidably led into
the miftake without any fault on his part. His mif-
take is now invincible, and, in the opinion of all
moralifts, takes away all blame ; yet this new cafe
fuppofes no change, but in the caufe of his miftake.
His fubfecpjent conduft was the fame in both cafes.
The fault therefore lay folely in the negligence and
inattention which was the caufe of his miftake.

The axiom. That invincible ignorance takes away
all blame, is only a particular cafe of the general
axiom. That there can be no moral obligation to
what is impofliblc ; the former is grounded upon
the latter, and can have no other foundation.

I lliall put only one cafe more. Suppofe that a
man, by excefs and intemperance, has entirely de-
' ' ftroyed

SECOND ARGUMENT. 307

ftroyed his rational faculties, fo as to have become
pcr^'eclly mad or iilioiical ; fuppofe him forewarned
of his danger, and that, tlumgh he forefaw that
this muft be the confcquence, he went on ftill in his
criminal indulgence. A greater crime can hardly be
fuppofed, or more deferving of fevere punifnment .?
Suppofe him puniOied as he deferves ; will it be (aid,
that the duty of a man is incumbent upon him now,
when he has not the fiKulties of a man, or that he
incurs new guilt when he is not a moral agent ?
Surely we niay as well fuppofe a planf, or a clod of
earth, to be a fubjeft of moral duty.

The decilions I have given of thefe cafis, are
grounded upon the fundamental principles of morals,
the moft immediate dictates of confcience. If thefe
principles are given up, all moral reafoning is at an
end, and no diftinclion is left between what is juffc
and what is unjuft. And it is evident, that none of
thefe cafes furnifhes any exception to the axiom above
mentioned. No moral obligation can be confident
with impoflibility in the performance.

Active power, therefore, is necelTarily implied in
the very notion of a moral accountable being. And
if man be fuch a being, he mull have a degree of
acllve power proportioned to the account he is to
make. lie may have a model of perfec^tion fct before
liim which he is unable to reach ; but, if he does to
the utmoft of his power, this is all he can be anfwer-
able for.- To incur guilt, by not going beyond his
power, is impoffiblc.

What was laid, in the firfi: argument, of the limi-
tation of our pcSwer, adds much ftrength to the prc-
fent argument. A man's power, it was obfcrved,
extends only to his voluntary actions, and has many
limitations, even with refpe^l to them.

His accountablenefs has the fame extent and the
lame limitations.

In the rage of madncfs he has no power over him-
f;lf, neither is he accountable, or capable of moral

U z obligation.

3o8 ESSAY IV. Chap. VIL

obligation. In ripe age, man is accountable in a
grea'cr degree than in non-age, becaufe his power
over himfclt is greater. Violent paflions, and violent
motives alleviate v.liat is done through their influ-
ence, in the fame proportion as they diminifh the
power of refiftance.

There is, therefore, a perfect correfpondence be-
tween power, on the one hand, and moral obligati-
on and accountablenefs, on the other. They not
only correfpond in general, as they refpecl voluntary
anions only, but every limitation of the firft pro-
duces a correfponding limitation of the two laft.
This, indeed, amounts to nothing more than that
maxim of common fenfe, confirmed by Divine au-
thority. That to whom much is given, of him much
will be required.

The fum of this argument is. That a certain de-
gree of active power is the talent v/hich God hath
given to every rational accountable creature, and of
which he will require an account. If man had no
power, he would have nothing to account for. All
vvifeand allfoolifh conduct, all virtue and vice, con-
fift in the right ufe or in the abufe of that power
which God hath given us. If man had no power,
he could neither be wife nor foolifli, virtuous nor
vicious.

If we adopt the fyftem of neceflity, the terms
moral Gbligation and accountablenefs^ praife and blamc^
merit and demerit^ jufcicc and iujujiicc^ rcivard and
■punijhment^ w'lfdom AnAfolly, virtue and vice, ought to
be difufed, or to have new meanings given to them
when they are ufed in religion, in morals, or in
civil government ; for upon that fyftem, there can
be no fuch things as they have been always ufed to
iignify.

CHAP.

THIRD A R G U M E N T. 309

C H A P. VIII.

Third Argwnenf.

1 HAT man has power over his own actions and
volitions appears, bccaufe he is capable of carrying
on, wifely and prudently, a fyilem of conduclt,
which he had before conceived in his mind, and re-
folved toprofecute.

I take it for granted, that, among the various
characters of men, there have been fome, who, after
they came to years of underftanding, deliberately
laid down a plan of conduct, which they refolved
to purfue through life ; and that of thefe, fome
have fteadily purfued the end they had in view, by
the proper means.

It is of no confequence in this argument, whether
one has made the heft choice of his main end or not;
whether his end be riches, or power, or fame, or
the approbation of his Maker. I fuppofc only, that
he has prudently and fteadily purfued it; that, in a
h)ng courfe of deliberate actions, he has taken the
means that appeared moll conducive to his end, and
avoided \\ hatevcr mio^ht crofs it.

That fuch conducT: in a man demonfrratcs a certain
degree of wifdom and underftanding, no man ever
doubted ; and, I fay, it denionftrates, with equal
force, a certain degree of power over his voluntary
determinations.

This will appear evident, if we confidcr, that un-
derftanding v/ithout power may project, but can ex-
ecute nothing. A regular plan of condu<5t, as it
cannot be contrived without underftanding, {o it
cannot be carried into execution without power ;
and, therefore, the execution, as an efTedl, demon-

ftrates.

3IO E S S A Y IV. Chap. VIII.

ftrates, with equal force, both power and under-
ftanding in the caufe. Every indication of wifdom,
taken from the eflecl, is equally an indication of
power to execute what wifdom planned. And, it
we have any evidence, that the wifdom which form-
ed the plan is in the man, we have the very fame
evidence, that the power which executed it is in him
alfo.

In this argument, wc reafon from the fame prin-
ciples, as in demouftrating the being and perfections
of the Firft Caufe of all thing.

The effeds we obferve in the courle of nature re-
quire a caufe. Effects wdfely adapted to an end, re-
quire a wdfe caufe. Every indication of the wifdom
of the Creator is equally an indication of his power.
His wifdom appears only in the w'orks done by his
powder ; for wifdom without power may fpeculate,
but it cannot act ; it may plan, but it cannot execute
its plans.

The fame reafoning we apply to the works of men.
In a {lately palace we fee the wifdom of the architect.
His wifdom contrived it, and wdfdom could do no
more. The execution required, both a difiincl con-
ception of the plan, and power to operate according
to that plan.

Let us apply thefc principles to the fuppofition we
have made, That a man, iu a long courfe of con-
duel, has determined and a6led prudently in the
profecution of a certain end. If the man had both
the wifdom to plan this courfe of conducl, and that
power over his own actions that was necelfary to
carry it into execution, he is a free agent, and ufed
his liberty, in this iaftancc, with underllanding.

But if all his particular determinations, which
concurred in the execution of this plan were produ-
ced, not by hiniielf, but by fome caufcs acting ne-
celfirily upon him, then there is no evidence left
that he contrived this plan, or that he ever fpent a
thought about it.

The

T II I R D A R G U M E N T. ji i

The caufcthat dircclcd ail thcfc determinations To
wifely, whatever it was, muft be a wile and intelli-
gent caufe ; it mull have undcrllood the plan, and
iiavc intended the execution ot it.

It" it be faid, that all this courfc of determinations
was produced by motives ; motives furely have not
underftandin;^ to conceive a plan, and intend its ex-
ecution. We mult therefore go back beyond mo-
tives to fome intelligent being who had the power
of arranging thofe motives, and applying them, in
their proper order and feafon, i'o as to bring about
the end.

This inteliig:cnt beina: muil have underfrood the
plan, and iniended to execute it. If this be fo, as
the man had no hand in the execution, we have not
any evidence left, that he had any hand in the con-
trivance, or even that he is a thinking being.

If we can believe, that an extenfive feries of means
may confpire to promote an end without a caufe that
intended the end, and had power to clmfe and ap-
ply thofe means for the purpofe, v/e may as well
believe, that this world was made by a fortuitous
concourfe of atoms, without an intelligent and pow-
erful caufe.

If a lucky concourfe of motives could produce
the conduct of an Alexander or a Julius Cesar,
no reafon can be given why a lucky concourfe of
atoms might not produce the planetary fyftem.

If, therefore, wife conduct in a man dcmonftrates
that he has fome degree of wifdom, it demonfirates,
with equal force and evidence, that he has fome de-
gree of power over his own determinations.

All the reafon we can aflign for believing that our
fellow-men think and reafon, is grounded upon their
actions and fpeecheo. If they are not-the caufe of
thefe, there is no reafon left to conclude that they
think and reafon.

Des Cartes thought that the human body is
merely a mechanical engine, and that all its motions

and

312 E S S A Y IV. Chap. VIII.

and ntfilons are produced by mechnnifm. If fuch a
m:ichinc could be made to fpeak and to act rationally,
we might indeed conclude with certainty, that the
maker of it had both rcafou and aclivc power ; but
if we once knew, that all the motions of the ma-
chine were purely mechanical, we fliould have no
realbn to conclude that the man had reafon or
thouirht.

The conclufion of this argument is. That, if the
actions and fpecchcs of other men give us fulTicient
evidence that they are reafonable beings, they give
us the fame evidence, and the fame degree of evi-
dence, that they are free agents.

There is another conclufion that may be drawn
from tliis reafoning, which it is proper to men-
tion.

Suppofe a fatalift, rather than give up the fcheme
of neceflity, fhould acknowledge that he has no evi-
dence that there is thought and reafon in any of his
fellow-men, and that they may be mechanical en-
gines for all that he knows ; he will be forced to
acknowledge, that there muft be a6Uve power, as
well as underftanding, in the maker of thofe engines,
and that the firft caufe is a free agent. We have
the fame reafon to believe this, as to believe his ex-
illence and his wifdom. And, if the Deity acls
freely, every argument brought to prove that free-
dom of action is impofiible, muil fall to the
ground.

The Firft Caufe gives us evidence of his power by
every efl'ccl: that gives us evidence of his wifdom.
And, if he is pleafed to communicate to the work
of his hands fome degree of his wifdom, no reafon
can be afllgned vv^hy he may not communicate fomc
degree of his power, as the talent which wifdom is
to employ.

That the firft motion, or the firft effecl, whatever
it be, cannot he produced neceffarily, and, conle-
quentiy, that the Firft Caufe muft be a free agent,

has

OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 313

has been demonftrated fo clearly and unanfwerably
by Dr. Clark 1:, both in his Denionllration oF the
Beinjjj and Attributes of God, and in the end of his
Remarks on Collin's Philofophical Enquiry con-
cerning H-uinan Liberty, that 1 can add nothinj^ to
what he has laid ; nor have I found any objection
made to his reafoning, by any of the defenders of
neccflity.

C H A P. IX.

Of Arguments for Ncccjfity.

oOME of the arguments that have been ofTcrcd
for neceiTity v\ ere already confidcrcd in this cllay.

It has been faid. That human liberty refpects only
the aclions that are fubfequent to volition ; and that
power over the determinations of tlic will is incon-
ceivable, and involves a contradiction. This argu-
ment v/as confidcred in the firll chapter.

It has been faid, That liberty is inconfiftent with
the influence of motives, that it would make human
actions capricious, and man ungovernable by God
or man. Thefe arguments were conlidered in the
fourth and fifth chapters.

I am now to make fome remarks upon other ar-
guments that have been argued in this cauib. They
may, I think, be reduced to three chffes. They arc
intended to prove, cither that liberty of determina-
tion is impoflible, or that it would be hurtful, or
that, in fact, man has no fuch liberty.

To prove that liberty of determination is impofli-
ble, it has been faid, '1 hat tiicre mufl be a fullicient

realbn

314 E S S A Y IV. Chap. IX'.

reafon for every thing. For every cxijlcnce^ for every
events for every truths ihere mufi be afujfcient reafon.

"j'lie famous German Philofopher Leibnitz bodfted
much of having firil applied this principle to philo-
fophy, and of having, by that means, changed me-
taphyfics from being a play of unmeaning words,
to be a rational and demonftrative fcience. On tliis
account it deferves to be confidered.

A very obvious objection to this principle was.
That two or more means may be equally fit for tlie
fame end ; and that, in fuch a cafe, there may be a
fuflicient reafon for taking one of the number,
though there be no reafon for preferring one ta
another, of means equally fit.

To obviate this objection Leibnitz maintained,
that the cafe fuppofed could not happen ; or, if it
did, that none of the means could be ufed, for want
of a fuflicient reafon to prefer one to the reft.
Therefore he determined, with fome of the fchooL
men, That if an afs could be placed between two
bundles of hay, or two fields of grafs equally invit-
ing, the poor beaft would certainly ftand ftill and
flarve ; but the cafe, he fays, could not happen with-
out a miracle.

When it was objected to this principle. That there
could be no reafon but the will of God why the
material world was placed in one part of unlimited
fpace rather than another, or created at one point
of unlimited duration rather than another, or why
the planets fliould move from weft to eaft, rather
than in a contrary direction ; thefe objections Leib-
Niiz obviated by maintaining. That there is no fuch
thing as unoccupied fpace or duration ; that fpace is
nothing but the order of things co-exifting, and du-
ration is nothing but the order of things fucceilive ;
that all motion is relative, 'io that if there were only
one body in the univerfe, it would be immoveable ;
that it is inconfiftent with the perfection of the Deity,
that there ihould be ahv part of fpace unoccupied

OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. .vs

by body ; and, I fuppofc, he underftood the fame of
every part of duration. So that, according to this
fyftem, the world, like its Author, inuft be infinite,
eternal, and immoveable ; or, at leaft, as great iii
extent and duration as it is poHible for it to be.

When it was objected to the principle of a fufilci-
cnt reaion. That of two particles of matter perfect-
ly fimilar, there can be no real'on but the will of
(ioD for placing this here and ihat there ; this ob-
iei^ion Lf.idnitz obviated by maintaining. That it
is impofliblc that there can be two particles of mat-
ter, or any two things perfectly fimilar. And this
feems to have led him to another of his grand prin-
ciples, which he calls. The identity of indifcerui'oles.

When the principle of a fuflicient reafon had pro-
duced fo many furprifing difcovcries in philofophy,
it is no wonder that it fhould determine the loner dif-
puted qucftion about human liberty. This it does
in a moment. The determination of the v»ill is an
event for which there muft be a fuflicient reafon,
that is, fomething previous, which was neceflarily
followed by that determination, and could not be
followed by any other determination ; therefore it
was nccelTary.

Thus we fee, tliat this principle of the nccefTiLy of
a fuflicient reafon for every thing, is very fruitful of
confequences ; and by its fruits we may judge of it.
Tliofe who will adopt it, muft adopt ail the confe-
quences tliat hang upon it. To fix them all beyond
difpute, no more is neccfl-ary but to prove th<" truth
of the principle on which they depend.

I know of no argument oflered by Leibnitz in
proof of this principle, but the authority of Archi-
ivir.DEs, who, he fays, makes ufe of it to prove, that
a balance loaded with equal weights on botli ends
will continue at rell.

1 grant it to be good reafoning with regard to a
balance, or with regard to any machine, Th.at, when
there is no external caufe of its motion, it muft re-
main

316 E S S A Y IV. Chap. IX.

main at refi, bccaufc the machine has no power of
moving itfclf. But to apply this reafoning to a man,
i> to take ibr granted th.at the man is a machine,
wliich is the very point in nueftion.

Lkibnitz, and his followers would have us to take
this principle of the neceiTity of a fuflitient reafon for
every exi Hence, for every event, for every truth,
as a firft principle, without proof, without explana-
tion ; thovgh it be evidently a vague propofition,
capable of various meanings, as the word reafon is.
It muil have different meanings when applied to
things of fo different a nature as an ev^ent and a truth;
and it may have different meanings when applied to
the fame thing. We cannot therefore form a dif-
tin6t judgment of it in the grofs, but only by taking
it to pieces, and applying it to different things, in a
precife and diftincl meaning.

It can have no connection with the difpute about
liberty, except when it is applied to the determina-
tions of the will. Let us therefore fuppofe a volun-
tary action of a man ; and that the queftion is put.
Whether was there a fufhcient reafon for this ad ion
or not ?

The natural and obvious meaning of this queftion
is, Was there a motive to the aclion fufiicient to juf-
tify it to be wife and good, or, at leaft, innocent ?
Surely, in this fenfe, there is not a fuilicient reafon
for every human action, becaufe there are many that
arc foolifh, unreafonablc and unjuftifiable.

If the meaning of the queftion be. Was there a
caufe of the action ? Undoubtedly there was : Of
every event there muft be a caufe, that had power
fulHcient to produce it, and that exerted that power
for the purpofe. In the prefent cafe, either the man
v/as the caufe of the aclion, and then it was a free
action, and is juftly imputed to him ; or it muft have
had another caufe, and cannot juftly be imputed to
the man. In this fenfe, therefore, it is granted that

there

OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 317

there was a funicicnt rcafon for the ii6tion ; but the
queftion about liberty is not in the Icall aHcCLed by
this conccflion.

If, again, the meaning of tlic queftion be, Was
tlicrc fomething previous to the acliion, w hich made
ir to be neceffarily produced ? Every man, wlio be-
lieves that the action was free, will anfwcr to this
qu'jllion in the negative.

I know no other meaning that can be put upon
the principle of a fufllcient reafon, when applied to
tlie determinations of the human will, bcfides
the three I have mentioned. In the firft, it is evi-
dently falfe ; in the fecond, it is true, but does not
afl'ecl the qucflion about liberty ; in the third, it is
a mere alfertion of nccefiity without proof.

Before we leave this boalied principle, we may fee
how it applies to events of another kind. When
we fay that a Philofopher has afilgned a fullicient
reafon for fuch a phaenomenon. What is the mean-
ing of this ? The meaning furely is, That he has
accounted for it from the known laws of nature.
The fuilicient rcafon of a phssnomcnon of nature
muft therefore be fome law or laws of nature, of
which the phenomenon is a neceffary confequcnce.
But are we fure that, in this fenfe, there is a fullici-
ent reafon for every pha^nomcnoi: of nature ? I think
v/e are not.

For, not to fpcak of miraculous events, in which
the laws of nature are fufpcncied, or countera^Tied,
we know not but that, in the ordinary courfe of
God's providence, there may be particular ads of
his adminiftration, that do not come under any
gi^neral law of nature.

r.ftabliflicd laws of nature are necefTiry for ena-
bling intelligent creatures to conduct: their afl'airs
with wifdom and prudence, and profccutc their ends
by proper means ; but ftill it may be fit, that fomc
particular events Ihould not be fixed by general laws,
but be dircdlcd by particular ads of the Divine go-
vernment,

3i8 ESSAY rv. CiiAP. IX.

vernment, that fo his reafonablc creatures may have
fufficicnt inducement to fupplicatc his aid, his pro-
tc«5lion and direction, and to depend upon him for
tlic fuccefs of their honcft dcfigns.

"We fee that, in human governments, even thofe
tliat are moft legal, it is impoflible that every act of
the adminiftration ihould be directed by eftabliflied
laws. Some things mufl be left to the direction of
the executive power, and particularly acts of cle-
mency and bounty to petitioning fubjeds. That
there is nothing analogous to this in the Divine go-
vernment of the world, no man is able to prove.

We have no authority to pray that God would
counteract or fufpend the laws of nature in our be-
half. Prayer therefore fuppofes that he may lend an
car to our prayers, without tranfgrefling the laws
of nature. Some have thought that tlie only ufc of
prayer and devotion is, to produce a proper temper
and difpofition in ourfclvcs, and that it has no effi-
cacy with the Deity. But this is a hypothecs with-
out proof. It contradicts our moft natural fenti-
ments, as well as the plain doctrine of fcripture, and
tends to damp the fervour of every acl of devotion.

It was indeed an article of the fyftem of LtiB-
NiTZ, That the Deity, fmce the creation of the world,
never did any thing, excepting in the cafe of mira-
cles ; his work being made fo perfed at firft, as
never to need his interpofition. But, in tlii'i, he
was oppofed by Sir Isaac Newton, and others ot
the ableft Philofophers, nor was he ever able to
give any proof of this tenet.

There is no evidence, therefore, that there is a
fufHcicnt rcafon for every natural event ; if, by a
fuilicicnt reafon, wc undcrftand fome fixed law or
law? of nature, of which that event is a ncccflary
confequcncc.

But what, fliall we fay, is the fufiicient reafon for
a truth ? For our belief of a truth, I think, the fuf-
ficicnt reafon is our having good evidence ; but what

mav

OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 31^

may be meant by ;i fufiicicnt rcafon for its being a
truth, I am not able to guefs, unlefs the fuflicient
rcafon of a contingent trutli be, Tliat it is true ; and,
of a neccfl'ary truth, that it niujl be true. This makc;>
a man liirle wifcr.

From what has been faici, I tliink it appears. That
this principle of the neceility of a fulFicient reafon
for every thing, is very indefinite in its fignificati-
on. If it mean. That of every event tliere mull be
a caufe that had fuflicient power to produce it, this
is true, and has always been admitted as a firft prin-
ciple in Philofophy, and in common life. If it mean
that every event muft be neceffarily confcquent upon
fometliing (called a fuflicient rcafon) tliat went be-
fore it ; this is a diredl afVcrtion of univerfal fatality,
and has many flrangc, not to fay abfurd, confequcn-
ccs : But, in this fenfe, it -is neither fclf-evident, nor
has any proof of it been offered. And, in general,
in every fenfe in which it has evidence, it gives no
new information ; and in every fenfe in which it
would give new information, it wants evidence.

Another argument that has been ufed to prove
lil)erty of aflion to be impofTible is, That it implies
'• an efl'e6l without a caufe."

To this it may be briefly anfwcred. That a free
action is an cfTc^l produced by a being who had
power and will to produce it j therefore it is not an
tffecl without a caufe.

To fuppofe any other caufe neceffary to the pro-
du61ion of an effetSf, than a being who had the pow-
er and the will to produce it, is a contradiction j
for it is to fuppofe that being to have power to pro-
duce the efiet^t, and not to have power to pro-
duce it.

But as great flrefs is laid upon this argument by
a late zcaU)us advocate for necefiity, we fliall confi-
dcr the liglu in which he puts it.

He introduces tills argument with an obfcrvalidJi
to which I entirely agree : It is. That to ellabliOi thii

do(^trine

320 ESSAY IV. Chap. IX.

dodrine of necefTity, nothing is ncceflary but that,
throughout all nature, the fame coiiiequences fliould
invariably refult from the fame circumftanccs.

I know nothing more that can be dcfired to cfta-
blilh univerfal fatality throusrhout the univerfc.
When it is proved that, through all nature, the fime
confequences invariably refult from the fame circum-
llances, the doctrine of liberty muft be given up.

To prevent all ambiguity, I grant, that, in reafon-
ing, the fame confequences, throughout all nature,
will invariably follow from tlie fame premifcs : Ee-
caufe good reafoning muft be good reafoning in all
times and places. But this has nothing to do with
the doctrine of necefiity. The thing to be proved,
therefore in order to eftablifh that doclrine, is, That,
through all nature, the fame events invariably refult
from the hmt circumftanccs.

Of this capital point, the proof offered by that
author is. That an event not preceded by any cir-
cumftances that determined it to be what it was,
would be an effed ivitboiit a caufc. Why fo ? " Tor,
"•' fays he, a caufe cannot be defined to be any thing
" h\iX.fuch previous circumjlances as are ccujtantly fcUoiv-
" ed by a certain effcd ; the conftancy of the refult
" m.akingus conclude, that there nmft be 2..fujficlcnt
'* rccifon, in the nature of things, why it fliould be
" produced in thofe circumitances."

I acknowledge that, if this be the only definition
that can begi\'en of a caufe, it will follow. That an
event not preceded by circumftances that determin-
ed it to be what it was, would be, not an effed with-
out a caufe, which is a contradiction in terms, but
an event without a caufe, Avhich I hold to be impof-
fible. The matter therefore is brought to this ilfue.
Whether this be the only definition that can be
given of a caufe ^.

With regard to this point, we may obferve, firj;
That this definition of a caufe, bating the phrafe-
ology of putting a ca'-:jc under the category of r.'>-

cumjiancesy

'OV ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY, 3:1

cumjlanccs^ wliich 1 take to be new, is the fame, in
other words, with that which Mr. Hume i^ave, of
which he oiiglit to be acknowledged the inventor.
For I know oi no author before Mr. Hume, who
maintained, that we Iiavc no oth.er notion of a caufe,
but that it is foniething prior to theelfe^t, which has
been found by experience to be conftantly followed
by the cffecl:. This is a main pillar of iiis fyilem ;
and he has drawn very important confequenccs from
this definition, which I am far from thinkinir this
author will adopt.

Without repeatinc^ what 1 have before faid of cau-
fes in the firft of thefe P.lfays, and in the fecond and
third chapljers of this, I (hail here mention fome of
the confequences that may be juilly deduced from
tiiis definition of a caufe, that we may judge of it
by its fruits.

//'■//, It follows from this definition of a caufe,
that night is the caufe of day, and day the caufe of
night. For no two things have more conftantly fol-
lowed each other fmce the beginning of the world.

Sccondlyy It follows from this definition of a caufe,
that, for what we know, any thing may be the caufe
of any thing, fmce nothing is ell'cntial to a caufe
but its being conftantly followed by the efl[e(5r. If
this be fo, v/liat is unintelligent may be the caufe
of what is intelligent ; folly may be the caufe of wii".
dom, and evil of good ; all reaioning from the na-
ture of the clTecl: to the nature of the caufe, and all
reafoning from final caufes, mud be given up as fal-
lacious.

"Tbirdlj^ From this definition of a caufe, it fol-
lows, thai we have no reafon to conclude, that every
event nmft have a caufe: For innumerable events
liippen, when it cannot be ihewn that there were
certain previous circumfiances that have conftantly
been followed by fuch an event. And though it were
certain, that every event we have had accefs to ob-
ferve had a caufe, it would not follow, that every

X event

322 ESSAY IV. Chap. IX.

event mud have a caule : For it is contrary to the
rules of logic to conclude, that, bccaufe a thing has
always been, therefore it mufl be ; to reafon from
what is contingent, to what is neceilary.

Fourthly^ From this definition of a caufe, it
would follow, that we have no reafon to conclude
that there was any caufe of the creation of this world :
For there were no previous circumftancc; that had
Ipecn conftantly followed by fuch an effect. And,
for the fame reafon, it would follow from the defi-
nition, that whatever was fingular in its nature, or
the iirfl thing of its kind, could have no caufe.

Several of thefe confequences were fondly embrac-
ed by Mr. Hume, as neceffarily following from his
definition of a caufe, and as favourable to his fyftem
of abfolute fcepticifm. Thofe who adopt the defi-
nition df a, cayfe, from which they follow, may
chufe whether they will adopt its confequences, or
fliew that they do not follow from the definition.

A /?rc/2 J obfervation with rcQ-ard to this argument
is, That a definition of a caufe may be given, which
is not burdened with fuch untoward confequences.

Why may not an cfHcient caufe be defined to be a
being that had power and will to produce the cflTedi
The production of an effect requires aftivc power,
and active power, being a quality, muft be in a be-
ing endowed with that pov/er. Power without will
produces no cifect ; but, uherc thcfe arc conjoined .
the eflfect muft be produced.

This, 1 think, is the proper meaning of the word
caufe^ when it is ufed in metaphyfics ; and particu-
larly when we aflirm, that every thing that begins,
to exift muft have a caufe ; and when, by rcafoning,
we prove, that there muft be an eternal Firft Caufe
of all things.

Was the world produced by previous circum-
ftances which are conftantly followed by fuch an ef-
fect ? or. Was it produced by a Being that had
power to produce it, and willed its production .'*

OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 323

In natural philofophy, the word caufe is often
ufcd ill a very different fenfe. When an event is
pn)duccd according to a known la\^ of nature, the
law of nature is called the caufe of that event. But
a law of nature is not the efficient caufe of any event.
It is only ilie rule, according to which the efficient
caufe acis. A law is a thing- conceived in the mind
of a rational being, not a thing that has a real ex-
iftence ; and, therefore, like a motive, it can nei-
ther ace nor be adted upon, and confequently can-
not be an efficient caufe. If there lie no being that
aiTi.s according to tlie law, it produces no effect.

This author takes it for granted, that every vo-
luntary action of man was determined to be what it
was by the laws of nature, in the fame fenfe as me-
chanical motion ; and that every choice, not tims
determined, " is jud as impoffible, as that a mecha-
" nica! motion iiiould depend upoa no certain law
" or rule, or that any other effecl ihould exifl with-
" out a caufe."

It ought here to be obfervcd, that tlicre arc two
kinds of laws, both very properly called la%vs of na-
ture^ which ought not to be con Founded. There are
moral lavv's of nature, ai;d phyiical laws of nature.
Tlie lirfc are the rules which God has prefcribed to
hi; rational creatures tor tiieir conduf^. They re-
fpeci voluntary and tree aciions only ; for no other
actions can be fubject to moral rules. • Thefe laws of
nature ought to be always obeyed, but they are of-
ten traulgrcircd by men. I'Jicre is thcrelore no im-
poffibility in the violation of the moral laws of na-
ture, nor is fuch a violation an effccl: without a
caufe. The tranfgreifor is the caufe, and is jufri/
accountable for it.

'Ihe phyfical laws of nature are the rules accord-
ing to which tiic Deity commonly at^is in his natural
government of the world ; and, whatever is done
according to them, is not done by man, but by
Goi), either immediately or by iralruments und'-r

iv 2 his

324 ESSAY IV. Chap. IX.

hij direction. Theft* laws of nature neither reffrain
the power of the Author of nature, nor bring him
under any obligation to do nothing beyond their
fphere. He ha>: fometimes a6tcd contrary to them,
in the cafe of miiracles, and perhaps often acls with-
out regard to them, in the ordinary courfe of his
providence. Neither miraculous events, which arc
contrary to the phyfical laws of nature, nor iuch
ordinary a61s of the Divine adniinilfration as are
without their Iphere, are impofllule, nor are they
effeds iL-iihout a.caufe. God is the caufe of them, and
to him only they are to be imputed.

That the moral laws of nature are often tranf-
grelTed by man, is undeniable. If the phyfical laws
of nature make his obedience to the moral laws to
be impoflible, then he is, in the literal fenfe, born
under one LtiL\ bound unto another^ which contradicts
every notion of a righteous government of the
u-orld.

But though this fuppofition were attended with
no fuch blocking confequence, it is merely a fuppo-
fition ; and until it be proved, that every choice or
voluntary adion of man is determined by the phy--
fical laws of nature, this argument for neceility is
only the taking for granted the point to be proved.

Of the fame kind is the argument for the impol-
fibility of liberty, taken from a balance, which can-
not move but as it is moved by the weights put in-
to it. This argument, though urged by almoil eve-
ry writer in defence of neccfllty, is fo pitiful, and
has been fo often anfv/cred, that it fcarce deilrves to
be mentioned.

Every argument in a difpute, which is not ground-
ed on principles granted by both parties, is that kind
of fophifm which logicians caU pctitio principU ; and
fuch, in my apprehenfion, are all the arguments of-
fered to prove that liberty of a;^iion is impoflible.

It may farther be obferved, that every argument
of this clafs, if it were really conclufivc, mufl ex-
tend

OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 325

tend to the Deity, as well as to all created beings -,
and neceirary exigence, wliich has always been con-
fidered as the prerogative of the Supreme Being,
niuft belong equally to every creature and to every
event, even the moft trifling.

This I take to be the fyftem of Spinosa, and of
liiofe among the ancients who carried fatality to the
higheil pitch.

1 before referred the reader to Dr. Clarke's ar-
gument, which profcfles to demonllratc, that the
Firft Caufe is a free aorent. Until that argument
fliall be fhcwn to be fallacious, a thing which I have
not feen attempted, fuch v.'cak argiiinents as have
been brought to prove the contrary, ought to have

little wcisilu.
o

CHAP. X.

The jlime Subjccl.

VV I T IT regard to the fccojid clafs of arguments
for neceiTity, which are intended to prove,' that li-
berty of a6tion would be hurtful to man, I have
only to obfcrvc, that it is a fact too evident to be
denied, whether we adopt the fyftem of liberty or
that of neceility, that men actually receive hurt
from their own voluntary actions, and from the vo-
luntary a6tion>> of other men ; nor can it be pre-
tended, that this fa<5t is inconfiftent with the doc-
trine of liberty, or that it is more unaccountable
upon this fyuem than upon that of ncccflky.

In order, therefore, to draw any folid argument
againft liberty, from its hurtfulncfs, it ought to be
proved, T'hat, if man were a free agent, he would

-26 ESSAY IV. Chap. X.

do more hurt to himrdf, or to others, tlran he ac-
tually does.

To this purpofe it has been faid, That liberty
ivould make men's actions capricious ; that it would
take away the eCiGct of rewards and punifhments }
and that it would make man ablblutely ungovern-
able.

Thefj arguments have been already confidered in
the fourth and fifth chapters of this I'^ffay ; and,
therefore, I fhall now proceed to the third clafs of
arguments for neceility, which are intended to prove,
that, in fad:, men are not free agents.

The moft formidable argument of this clafs, 'and,
I think, the only one that has not been conHdered in
ibme of the preceding chapters, is taken from the
prefcience of the Deity.

God forefces every determination of the human
mind. It muil therefore be what he forefees it lliall
be ; and therefore muft be neceffary.

This argument may be underftood three different
ways, each of which we fliall conllder, that we may
fee all its force.

The neceflity of the event may be tliought to be
a juft confe«.]uence, either barely from its being cer-
tainly future, or barely from its being forefeen, or
from the impoflibility of its being forefeen, if it
was not neceirary.

Fir/r, It may be thought, that, as nothing can be
known to be future which is not certainly future ;
lb, if it be certainly future, it mufl be neceflary.

This opinion has no lefs authority in its favour
than that of Arts fotle, who indeed held the doc-
trine of liberty, but believing, at the fame time,
that whatever is certainly future muft be neceffary,
in order to defend the liberty of hum.m actions,
maintained, That contingent events have no certain
futurity ; Imt I know of no modern advocate for
li' ( rry, who has put the defence ot it upon that
iilue.

OF ARGUI^ILNTS FOR NECESSITY. 327

It miifl ])c granted, that as wlipitcvcr was, certain-
ly was, and whatever is, certainly is, To whatever
ihall be, certainly fhall be. Thefc are identical pro-
portions, and cannot be doubted by thofe who con-
ceive them diftindly.

But I know no rule of reafoning by wiiich it can
be interred, that, becaufc an event certainly fliall be,
therefore its production muft be neceffary. The
manner of its prodat^tion, whether free or neceiTaryj
cannot be concluded from the time of its produclii-
on, whctlier it be paft, prefent ot future. Tliat it
fhall be, no more implies that it fliall be necellarily,
than that it fliall be freely produced ; for neither
prefent, pafl: nor future, have any more connection
with necelFity than they have with freedom.

I grant, therefore, that, from events being fore-
feen, it may be juitly concluded, that they are cer-
tainly future ; but from their being certainly future,
it does not follow that they are ncceflary.

Secondly, If it be meant by this argument, that an
event muft be neceffary, merely becaufe it is fore-
fcen, neither is this a juft confequence : For it has
often been obferved, That prefcience and knowledge
of every kind, being an immanent act, has no ef-
fc'fl upon the thing known. Its mode of exiftence,
whether it be free or necefTary, is not in the leaft
afieded by its being known to be future, any more
than by its being known to be paft or prefent. The
Deity forefees his owii future free actions, but nei-
ther his forefight nor his purpofe makes them necef-
fary. The argument, therefore, taken in this view,
as well as in the former, is inconclufiv^e.

A t/jird way in which this argument may be un-
dcrftood, is this : It is impoffible that an event which
is not neceffary fhould be forefeen ; therefore every
event that is certainly forefeen, muft be neceil'ary.
Here the conclufion certainly follows from the ante-
cedent propofition, and therefore the whole ftrefs of
the argument lies upon the proof of that propofi-
tion.

Let

323 L S S A Y IV. Chap. X.

Let 113 coiirider, therefore, wliethcr it can be
proved, That no free a«Stion can be certainly forcfeen.
If this can be proved, it will follow, either that all
actions are necefTary, or that all actions cannot be
forefecn.

With regard to the general propofition, That it is
imponfible that any free action can be certainly fore-
seen, 1 obferve,

Jj;iv>j;'?, That every .man who believes the Deity to
DC a free agent, muft belifeve that this propofition
not only is incapable of proof, but that it is certainly
falfe: For the man himfclf forcfces, that the Judge
of all the earth will always do what is right, and
that he will fulfil M'hatever he has proip.ifcd ; and,
at the fame time, believes, that, in doing what is
right, and in fulniiin^^ his promifes, the Deity acls
with tlie moft perfect treedom.

Secondly^ I obferve. That every man who believes
that it is an abfurdity or contradidion, that any free
.action fhouid be certainly forefccn, muft believe, if
he will be confident, cither that the Deity is not a
free agent, or that he does not forefee his own a61i-
.Giis<; nor can v.t fojcfee that he will do what is
right, and will fulfil his promifes.

Tbird/y, Without conlidering the confequences
■which this general propofition carries in its bofom,
which give it a very bad afpect, let us attend to the
arguments offered to prove it.

13r. Prifstley has laboured more in the proof of
this propofition tlian any other author I am acquaint-
ed with, and maintains it to be, not only a difficul-
ty and a myfccry, as it has been called, that a con-
tingent event Ihould be the objecl of knowledge, but
that, in reality, there cannot be a greater abiurdity
or contradiction. Let us hear the proof of this.

" For, fays he, as certainly as nothing can be
" known to cxift, but Vv'hat docs cxift ; fo certainly
" can nc^tliing be known to ^rij'c fromiohat doescxUt^
*' but what does arife from it or depend upon it.

'' But,

OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 329

" But, according to the definition of the terms, a
*' contingent event does not depend upon any previ-
*' ous known circumitances, lincc fome other event
" miy;ht have aril'en in the fan-e circurr.rninces."

Thih urf^ument, when ftripped of incidental and
explanatory claiifes, and affected variations of cx-
preflion, amounts to this : Nothing can be known
to arife from what does exifl, but what does arife
from it : But a contingent event does not ariiefroni
what does exift. Tlie conclufion, which is left to be
drawn by the reader, muft, according to the rules of
reafoning, be : Therefore a contingent event cannot
be known to arife from what docs exift.

It is here very obvious, that a thing may arife from
what does exiil, two ways, freely or neccfiarily. A
contingent event arifes from itscaufe, not ncceilarily
but freely, and fo, tluit another event might have
arifen from the fime caufe, in the fame circum-
ftances.

The fecond propoiition of the argument is, That
a contingent event does not depend upon ;iny previ-
ous known circuniftanccs, which I take to be only a
variation of the term of not arifing fi'om ivhat does
ex'ifi. Therefore, in order to make the two propoll-
tions to correi'pond, we muit underftand by anjln^
from ixhnt docs e^ciji, arifmg neceil'arily from what
does exift. When this ambiguity is removed, the
argument ftands thus : Nothing can be known to
arife necciTarily from v/hat does exift, but wh;;t does
necefiarily ariiefrom it : i3ut a contingent event does
not arife necefilirily from what does exift ; therci.-.re
a contingent event cannot be known to arife necefia-
rily from v^hat does exift.

I grant the whole ; but the conclufion of this ar-
gument is not what he uridertook to prove, aiid
therefore the argument is that kind of fophifm which
locricians call i'j'ioranfia elenchi.

The thing to be proved is not, That a contingent
event cannot be known to arife necclfarily from what

cxifts ;

330 ESSAY IV. Chap. X

exlfts ; hnt tliat a contingent futiiie eS cnt cannot be
the object of knowlcdpje.

To draw the argument to this conciufion, it muft
be put thus : Nothing can be kno\vn to arife from
what does exiil, but what ariies necefTarily from it :
But a couting:nt event does not arife necefiarily from
what does cxiic ; therefore a contingent event can-
not be known to arife fj^om what does exifl.

The conclufion here is v/hat it ought to be ; but
the firft pi'opofition aflumes the thing to be proved,
and therefore the arsjument is what logricians call
pciiilo principii^

To the fame purpofe he fays, " That nothing can
*' be known at prefent, except itfelf or its necelfary
" caufe exift at prefent."

This is afllrmcd, but I fmd no proof of it.

Again he fays, " That knowledge fuppofes an ob-
" jed, which, in this cafe, does not exift." It is
true that knowledge fuppofes an object, and every
thing that is known is an object of knowledge, whe-
ther paft, prefent, or future, whether contingent or
neceflary.

Upon the wliolc, the arguments I can find upon
this point, bear no proportion to the confidence of
the alfcrtion, that there cannot be a greater abfurdity
or contradiction, than that a contingent event fhould
be the object of knowledge.

To thofe who, without pretending to fliew a ma-
nlfeft abfurdity or contradiction in the knowledge of
future contingent events, are ftill of opinion, that
it is impoffible that tlie future free actions of man, a
being of imperfect wifdoni and virtue, fliould be
certainly foreknown, I would humbly offer the fol-
lowing confiderations.

I. 1 grant that there is no knowledge of this kind
ia man ; and this is the caufe that we find it fo dif-
ficult to conceive it in any other being.

All our knowledge of future events is drawn either
from their neceflary ccmneiTcion with* the prefent

courfe

OF Ar^GU^.lENTS FOR NECESSITY. 331

courfe of nature, or from their connection with the
characlcr of the agent that produces tliem. Our
knowledge, even of thofe future events that necef-
farily rcfult from the eftabhihed laws of nature, is
hypothetical. It fuppofes the continuance of thoie
laws with which they arc connected. And how long
thofe laws may be continued, we have no certain
kncnvledge. God only knows when the prefcnt
courfe of nature fliall be changed, and therefore he
only has certain knowledsre even of events of this

• o

kind.

The charader of perfect wifdom and perfeft redi-
tude in the Deity, gives us certain knowledge that
he will always be true in all his declarations, fiiith-
fal in all his promiies, and jull: in all his difpcnfations.
But when we reafon from the character of men to
their future actions, though, in many cafes, we
liave fuch probability as we rell upon in our moft
important worldly concerns, yet we have no certain-
ty, becaufcmen are imperfect in wifdom and in A'ir-
tue. If we had even the moft perfecl knowledge of
the character and fttuation of a man, this would not
be fulllcient to give certainty to our knowledge of
his future aclitions ; becaufe, in fome actions, both
<j^ood and bad men deviate from their reneral cha-
ractcr.

The prcfcicnce of the Deity, therefore, muft be
dillerent not only in degree, but in kind, from any
knowledge we can attain of futurity.

2. Though w^e can have no conception how the
future free actions of men may be known by the
Deity, this is not a fufiicient reafon to conclude that
rhey cannot be known. Do wc know, or can we
conceive, how God knows the fecrets of mens
hearts ? Can we conceive how Cod made this world
without any pre-exillent matter ? All the ancient
Plulofophers believed thi J to be impofllble : And for
what reafon but this, tluit they could not conceive
liowit could be done. Can we give any better rca-

Ibn

332 ESSAY IV. Chak X.

fon for bclievlns^ that the a(?iions ot incri cannot be
certainly Ibrcfccn ?

3. Can we conceive hew we ourfelves liave certain
knowledge by thole iaculties with which God has en-
dowed us ? It any man thinks that he nnderftands
diilinctly how he is confcious of his ov.71 thoughts ;
how he perceives external objects by his fenfes ; how
he remciTiber.s paft events, I am afraid that he is not
yet fo wife as to nnderftand his own ignorance.

4. There feems to me to be a great analogy be-
tween the prefcience of future contingents, and the
memory of paft contingents. We pollefs the lafl: in
fome degree, and therefore find no dilHcuity in be-
lieving that it may be perfed in the Deity. But the
fiYit we have in no degree, and therefore are apt to
think it impoiTibie.

In both, the object of knowledge is neither what
prefently cxifrs, nor has any neccllary connection
with what prefently exifts. Every argument brought
to prove the impoilibility of prefcience, proves, with
equal force, the impofPibility of memory. If it be
true that nothing can be known to arife from what
does exift, but what neccflarily arifes from it, it
muft be equally true, that nothing can be known to
have, gone before what docs exiit, but what muft
neceiTarily have gone before it. If it be true that
nothing future can be known unlcfs its ncceflary
taufe exift at prefcnt, it muft be equally true that
notjiing paft can be known unlcfs fomcthing confe-
quent, with which it is neceiTarily connected, exift
at prefent. If the fatalift ftiould fay. That paft events
are indeed neceffarily connected with the prefent, he
will not fureiy venture to fay, that it is by tracing
this neceflary connection, that we remember the
paft.

Why then fliould we think prefcience impoilible in
the Almiglity, when he has given us a faculty vv'hich
bears a ftrony- analoo^y to it, and which is no Icfs un-
accountable to the human undcrftandmg, than pref-
cience

OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 333

ticiice is. It is more reafonable, as v.cll as more
a;_;iceable to the facred \vritin:^, to conclude with
a pious' father of the church, " Qiioci-ixa nul'.o modo
" cogimur, aut retenta prctfcientia Dr.i tollere vo-
*' luntatis arbitriuni, au'i retento voluntatis arbilrio,
" Dhum, (|Uod nefas eit, negare pr.'jfeium futuro-
'• rum : Sed utrumque amplectimur, uirumque fi-
" d-^'litcr et veraciter conntciniir : liliid ut bene cre-
" damus J hoc ut bene vivamus." Aug.

CHAP. XT.

Of the Pcniufflon of Evil.

AnOTPIER ufe has been made of Divine prefci-
eiice by the advocates for necefiity, which it is pro-
per to confidcr before we leave this fubjecl.

It has been faid, " That all thofe confequences
*• follow from the Divine prefcience M'hich are
'• thought mofl alarming in the fcheme of necefiity ;
*■' and particularly God's being the proper caufe of
'' moral evil. For, to fuppofe God to forefec and
" permit what it wws in his power to have prevent-
'" cd, is the very fame tiling, as to fuppofe him to
" will, and direiftly to caufe it. He diftinctly fore-
" foes all the aftions of a man's life, and all the con-
'• fequences or them : If, therefore, he did not think
" any particular man and his conduct proper for
" his plan of creation and providence, he certainly
'• would not have introduced him into being at
'■■ all."

In this reafoning w'^ may obferve, that a fuppofi-
tion is madj which fccms to contradlcl itielf.

That

334 ESSAY IV. Chap. XI.

That all the acftions of a particular man fhould be
diilinclly forefeen, and, at the fame time, that man
Ihould never be brought into exiftence, feems to me
to be a contradiction : And the fame contradiction
there i-;, in fuppohng any a<:tion to be diftinctly fore-
feen, and yet prevented. For, if it be forefeen, it
{hall happen ; and, if it be prevented, it fliall not
happen, and therefore could not be forefeen.

The knowledge here fuppofed is neither prefcience
nor fcience, but fomething very different from both.
It is a kind of knowledge, which fome metapiiylical
divines, in their controverfies about the order of the
Divine decrees, a fubjeft f^r beyond the limits of
human undcrftanding, attributed to the Deity, and
of which other divi»nes denied the pollibility, while
they fa*mly maintained the Divine prefcience.

It was cdWed flic nfia ?uedia, to diftinguilli it from
prefcience; and by th'is/dentia ?fieciiii\\'As meant, not
the knowing from eternity all things that fliall exiu,
Avhich is prefcience, nor the knowing all the connec-
tions and relations of things that exift or may be
conceived, which is fcience, but a kno\\ ledge of
thintrs continsfent, that never did nor fliall exift.
For inflance, the knowing every a6iion that vrould
be done by a man who is barely conceived, and Ihall
never be brousfht into exiftence.

Againfc the poflibility of the fnaitia med'u argu-
ments may be urged, which cannot be applied to
prefcience. Thus it may be faid, that nothing can
i)e known but what is true. It is true that the fu-
ture actions of a free agent fliall exill:, and tlierefore
we fee no impolTibility in its being known that they
ihall exill : But with regard to the free actions of an
agent tliat never did nor (hall exift, there is nothing
true, and therefore nothing can be known. To fay
that the being conceived, would certainly act in fuch
a way, if placed in fuch a fituation, if it have any
meaning, is to fay, That his ading in that way is
the confequence of the conception ; but this contra-
di>rt3 the fupporiliou of its being a free aclion.

Thin'^S

OF THE PEHr.IISSlON OF F.VIL. 335

Tliincrs merely conceived have no rcintions or con-
neclions but lucli as are implied in the conception,
or arc confcijuent from it. 'J'hus 1 conceive two
circles in the fame plane. If this be all I conceive,
it \< not true that thefe circles are equal or unequal,
becaufe neither of thefe relations is inipFicd in the
conception ; yet if the two circles really cxifted,
tliey mufi be either equal or unequal. Again, i
Lcnceive two circles in the fame plane, the diftancc of
w hofc centres is equal to the fum of their femidia-
meters. It is true of thefe circles, that they will
touch one another, becaufe this follows from the
conception ; but it is not true that they will be equal
or unequal, becaufe neither of thefe relations is im-
plied in the conception, nor is confeouent from it.

In like manner, I can conceive a being who has
power to do an indifferent aclion, or not to do it.
ll is not true that he would do it, nor is it true that
he would not do it, bccaufe-neither is implied in
my conception, nor follows from it ; and what is
not true cannot be known.

Though I do not perceive any fallacy in this ar-
gument againfc 2ifc!entia media, I am fcnfiblc how
iipt wc are to err in applying what belongs to our
conceptions and our knowledge, to the conceptions
and knowledge of the Supreme Being ; and, there-
fore, without pretending to determine for or againft
ifcientia mcdiii, I only obferve, that, to fuppofe that
the Deity prevents what he forefees by prefcience,
is a contradiction, and that to know that a contin-
gent event v»'hich he fees fit not to permit would
certainly happen if permitted, is not prefcience, but
the fiicfii i a vialid, whofe exigence or poflibility wc
are under no neccfTity of admitting.

Waving all difpute ihonx. f<icr,ti,i media, we acknow-
ledge, that nothing can happen under the admini-
llralion of tlie Deity, which he does not fee ilt to
permit. The permilTion of natural and moral evil,
ii a phxnomcnon which cannot be difput'.d. To

account

?36 ESSAY IV. Chap. XI.

account for this phsenomenon under the government
oF a Being of infinite goodnefs, jnftice, wifJom and
power, has, in all ages, been confidered as difUcult
to human reafon, ^vhether we embrace the fyilcm of
liberty or that of necefiity. But, if the difHculty of
accounting -for this phacnomenon upon the fyftem of
iiecefiity, be as great as it is upon the fyftem of li-
berty, it can have no weight when ufcd as an argu-
ment againft liberty.

The defenders of neceiTity, to reconcile it to the
principles of Theifm, find thcmfelvcs obliged to
give up all the moral attributes of God, excepting
that of goodnefs, or a defire to produce hr.ppinefs.
This they hold to be the folc motive of his making
and governing the univerfc. Juftice, veracity, faith-
fulnefs, are only modifications of goodnefs, the
means of promoting its purpofes, and are exercifed
only fo far as they ferve that end. Virtue is accep-
table to him and vice difpleaflng, only as the firtl
tends to produce happinefs and the laft mifery. He
is the proper caufe and agent of ail moral evil as well
as good ; but it is for a good end, to produce the
greater happinefs to his creatures. He does evil that
good may come, and this end fanclifies the v^'orft
actions that contribute to it. All the wickcdncfs of
men being the work of God, he mull, when he
furveys it, pronounce it, as well as all his other vv-orks,
to be very good.

This view of the Divine nature, the only one
conhftent with the fcheme of neccfiity, appears to
me much more lliocking than the permifTion of evil
upon the fcheme of liberty. It is faid, that it re-
quires onXy Jlrcrigth of mind to embrace it : To me it-
fecms to require much ftrength of countenance to
profefsit.

In this fyftem, as in Clean thes' Tablature of the
Epicurean fyftem, pleafure or happinefs is placed up-
on the throne as the queen, to whom all the virtues
bear the humble ofticc of menial ferva-uts.

OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 337

As the end of the Deity, in all his actions, is not
his own good, whicli can receive no addition, but
the good of his crcarurcs ; and, as his creatures are
capable of this difpofition in fome degree, is he not
pleafed with this image of hinifelf in his creatures,
and dilpleafcd with the contrary ? Why then Ihould
he be the author of malice, envy, revenge, tyranny
and oppreflion, in their hearts? Other vices that
have no malevolence in them may pleafe fuch a Deity,
but furely malevolence cannot pleafe him.

If we form our notions of the moral attributes of
the Deity from what we fee of his government of
the v\ orld, from the di6^ates of reafon and confcience,
or from the doclrine of revelation, juftice, veracity,
falthfulnefs, the love of virtue and diflike of vice,
appear to be nolefs effential attributes of his nature
than goodnefs.

In man, who is made after the image of God,
goodnefs or benevolence is indeed an effential part of
virtue, but it is not the whole.

I know not what arguments can be brought to
prove goodnefs to be effential to the Deity, which
Avill not, with equal force, prove other moral attri-
butes to be fo ; or what objedtions can be brought
againfl: the latter, which have not equal flrength
againft tlie former, unlefs it be admitted to be an
objection againfl: other moral attributes, that they
do not accord with the doclrine of neceflity.

If other moral evils may be attributed to the Deity
as the means of promoting general good, why may
not talfe declarations and falfe promifes ? And then
M'hat grouiul have we left to believe the truth of
what he reveals, or to rely upon what he pro-
mifes ?

Suppofmg this ftrange view of the Divine nature
were to be adopted in favour of the dodrine of
neceffity, there is flill a great diillculty to be re-
folved.

Y Since

338 ESSAY IV. Chap. XL

Since it is fuppofcd, that the Supreme Being had
no other end in making and governing the univerfe,
but to produce the greateft degree of happinefs to
"his creatures in general, how comes it to pafs, that
there is fo much mifery in a fyftcm made and go-
verned by infinite wifdom and power for a contrary
purpofe ?

The folution of this difllculty leads us neceflarily
to another hypothefis, That all the mifery and vice
that is in the world is a necefl'ary ingredient in that
fyftem which produces the greateft fum of happinefs
upon the whole. This connection betwixt the great-
'eft fum of happinefs and all the mifery that is in the
univerfe, muft be fatal and neceiTary in the nature of
things, fo that even Almighty power cannot break
it : For benevolence can never lead to inflicl mifery
without neceility.

This neceflary connection between the greateft fum
of happinefs upon the whole, and all the natural and
moral evil that is, or has been, or fliall be, being
once eftabliftied, it is impoflible for mortal eyes to
difcern how far this evil may extend, or on whom it
may happen to fall ; whether this fatal connection
'maybe temporary or eternal, or what proportion of
the happinefs may be balanced by it.

A world made by perfect wifdom and Almighty
"power, for no other end but to make it happy, pre-
sents the moft plcafmg profpect that can be imagined.
We expcd nothing but uninterrupted happinefs to
prevail for ever. But, alas! AVlicn we confider that
in this happicft fyftem, there muft be necelTarily all
the mifery and vice we fee, and how much more we
know not, how is the profpect darkened !

Thefe two hypcuhefes, the one limiting the moral
character of the Deity, the other limiting his pow-
er, feem to me to be the neceflary confequcnccs of
necefuty, when it is joined with Thcifm ; and they
have accordingly been adopted by the ablcft defen-
'ders^of that doctrine.

OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL; 339

If fomc defenders of Hl)crry, by limiting too rafiily
the Divine prefcicncc, in order to defend that fyftem,
have raifed hiL;;h indignation in their opponents ;
have they not equal ground of indignation againft
thofe, ^vho, to defend nccelllty, limit the moral per-
feftion of the Deity, and his Almighty power?

Let us confider, on the other hand, uhat confe-
quences may be fairly drawn from God's permitting
the abufe of liberty in accents on whom he has be-
Itowcd it.

If it be aflced, Why does God permit fo much fin
in his creation ? I confcfs 1 cannot anfwer the quefti-
on, but mull lay my hand upon my mouth. He
giveth no account of his conduct to the children of
men. It is our part to obey his command, and not
to fay unto him. Why doft thou thus ?

Hypothefcs might be framed ; but, while we have
ground to be fatisfied, that he does nothing but
what is right, it is more becoming us to acknowledge
that the ends ?nd reafons of his univerfal govern-
ment are beyond our knowledge, and perhaps be-
yond the ccunprchcnfion of human underftanding.
\Ve cannot penetrate fo far into the counfel of the
Almighty, as to know all the reafons why it became
him, of whom are all things, and to whom are all
things, to create, not only machines, which are fole-
ly moved by his hand, but fervants and children,
wiio, by obeying his commands, and imitating his
moral perfections, might rife to a high degree of
glory and happinefs in his favour, or, by perverfc
difobediencc, might incur guilt and jull punifliment.
In this he appears to us awful in his juftice, as well as
amiable in his goodnefs.

Rut, as he difdains not to appeal to men for the
equity of his proceedings towards them when his
cliaracter is impeached, we may, with humble re-
verence, plead for God, and vindicate that moral
excellence which is the glory of his nature, and of
which the in": ^c^e is the <ilorv and the pcrfeclion of
man.

Y 2 Let

340 ESSAY IV. Chap. XI.

Let us obferve firft: of iill, that to permit hath two
meaninsrs. It ficrnifies not to forbid ; and it fiornifies
not to Iiinder by fuperior power. In the firft of
thcfe fenfes, God never permits fm. His law forbids
every moral evil. By his laws and by his govern-
ment, he gives every encouragement to good con-
duct, and every difcouragement to bad. But he
does not always, by his fuperior power hinder it
from beincr committed. I'his is the crround of the
accufation ; and this, it is faid, is the very fame
thing as direclly to will and to caufe it.

As this is aflerted without proof, and is far from
being felf-evidcnt, it might be fuflicient to deny it
until it be proved. But, without refting barely on
the defenlive, we may obferve, that the only moral
attributes that can be fuppofed inconfillent \y\x\\ the
permifiion of fin, are either goodnefs or jufticc.

The defenders of neceffily, with whom we have
to do in this point, as they maintain that goodnefs
is the only eflential moral attribute of the Deity, and
the motives of all his actions, muft, if they will be
confifient, maintain, That to will, and directly to
caufe fm, much more not to hinder it, is conliftcnt
with perfect goodnefs, nay, that goodnefs is a fufK-
cient motive to juitify the willing and directly cauft
ing it.

With re2:ard to them, therefore, it is furelv un-
necelTary to attempt to reconcile the permifiion of
fin wath the goodjiefs of God, iince an inconiiiten-
cy between that attribute and the cauiing of iin
would overturn their whole fyftem.

If the caufmg of moral evil, and being the real
author of it, be confiftent with perfect goodnefs,
what pretence can there be to fay, that not to hin-
der it is inconfiltent uith perfect goodnefs ?

What is incumbent upon them, therefore, to prove
is. That the permilTion of fin is inconfiftent with juf-
tice ; and, upon this point we are ready to join iilue
with them.

. But

OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 341

But what pretence can there be to fay, that the
pcniiinuMi of fm is perfcclly confiftcnt with good-
iiefs in the Deity, but inconlillcnt \\'\{h juiHce ?

Is it not as cafy to conceive, that he fliould per-
mit fin, thou<j;li ^'irlue be his delight, as that he in-
fliil'ts niifcry, when liis foie deUght is to beitow hap-
pinefs ? Should it appear incredible, that the per-
inifuon of fm nvay tend to promote virtue, to them
\v\\o believe that the iniiie'tion of mifery is neceifary
to promote happinefs ?

The jufticc, as well as the goodncfs of God's mo-
ral government of mankind, appears in this : That
his laws are not arbitrary nor grievous, as it is only
by the obedience of them that our nature can be per-
fe-'ted and qualihed for future happinefs ; that he is
ready to aid our weaknef^, to help our infirmities,
a!id not to fulVer us to be tempted above what we
are able to bear ; that he is not Ib-icb to mark iniqui-
ty, or to execute judgment fpeedily againft an evil
work, but is long-luilering, and waits to be graci-
ous ; that he is ready to receive the humble penitent
to his favour; that he is no refpefter of pcrJbns,
but in every nation he that fears God and works
righteoufnefs is accepted of him ; that of every mm
he will require an account, proportioned to the ta-
lents he hath received; that he delights in mercy,
but hath no pleafure in the death of the wicke<i ;
and therefore in punifliing will never go beyond
the demerit of the criminal, nor beyond what the
rules of his univerfil government require.

rherc were, in ancient ages, fomc who faid, tlie
WMv of the Loud is not equal ; to whom the Pro-
pliet, in the name of God, makes this reply, which
in all age>, is fuihcicnt to repel this accufaiion. Hear
now, O lioufe of llrael, is Jiot my way equal, arc
not yours unequal? When a righteous man turneih
away from his righteoufnefs, and committeth v.u-
quliy, for his iniquity which he hath done fliall he.
die. Afrain, when a wicked man turneth a\\ ay from

ins

342 E S S A Y IV. Chap. xI.

his wickcdnefs that he hath committed, and doth
that which is lawful and right, he fliall fave his foul
alive. O houfc of Ifracl, are not my ways equal,
are not your ways unequal ? Repent and turn from
all your tranfgreflions, fo iniquity fhall not be your
ruin. Caft away from you all your tranfgrcffions
whereby you have tranfgrciTcd, and make you a new
heart and new fpirit, for why will ye die, O houfc
of Ifrael ^ For 1 have no pleafure in the death of
him that dieth, faith the Lord God.

Another argument for neceffity has been lately
offered, which we fhall very briefly confidcr.

It has been maintained, that the power of think-
ing is the refult of a certain modification of matter,
and that a certain configuration of brain makes a
foul ; and, if man be wholly a material being, it is
faid, that it will not be denied, that he muft be a
mechanical being ; that the doctrine of neceflity is
a direct inference from that of matciiaiifm, and its
undoubted confcquencc.

As this argument can have no weight with thofe
who do not fee reafon to embrace tliis fyflem of
materialifm ; fo, even with thole w ho do, it fecms
to me to be a mere fophilm.

Philofbphers have been wont to conceive matter
to be an inert paflive being, and to have certain
properties inconfiftent witii the power of thinking
or of acling. But a Philofophcr arifes, M^ho proves,
we fliall fuppole, that we were quite miftaken in
our notion of matter ; that it has not the proper-
ties we fuppofed, and, in faft, has no properties
but thofe of attraction and repulfion ; but ftill he
thinks, that, being matter, it will not be denied
that is a mechanical being, and that the doclrine of
necellity is a dire(^t inference from that of mate-
riaiiim.

Herein, however, he deceives himfelf. If mat-
ter be what we conceived it to be, it is equally in-
capable of thinking and of aifting freely. But it

the

OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL. 343

the properties, from which we drew this conclufi-
on, have no reality, as he thinks he has proved ;
if it have the powers of attraction and repullion,
and require only a certain configuration to make it
think rationally, it will be impolffnlc to ihevv^ any
good rcafon why the fame configuration may not
make it ad rationally and freely. If its reproach of
folidity, inertnefs and lluggilhnefs be wiped ofll';
and if it be raifed in our eftcem to a nearer approach
to the nature of what \vc call fpiritual and imma-
terial beings, why fhould it IHll be nothing but a me-
chanical being ? Is its Iblidity, inertnefs and fluggifh-
ncfs, to be firft removed to make it capable of think-
ing, and then reftored in order to make it incapable
of acting ?

Thofe, therefore, who reafon juftly from this fyf-
tern of matcrialifm will eafily perceive, that the
docl:rine of neceility is fo far from being a direct in-
ference, that it can receive no lupport from it.

To conclude this Efl'ay : Extremes of all kinds
ought to be avoided ; yet men are prone to run into
tliem ; and, to Ihun one extreme, we often run in-
to the contrary.

Of all extremes of opinion, none are more dan-
gerous than thofe that exalt the powers of man too
high, on the one hand, or fink them too low, on
the other.

By railing them too high, we feed pride and vain-
glory, we lofe the fenle of our depcndance upon
Gon, and engage in attempts beyond our abilities.
By dt'preflint^ them too low, we cut the finews of
aclion and ot obligation, and are tempted to think,
that, as we can do nothing, we have nothing to do,
but to be carried paflivcly aloilg by the iiream of
neceflity.

Some good men, apprehending that, to kill pride
and vain-glory, our active powers cannot be too
much deprcU'ed, have been |ed, by zeal for religion,
to deprive us of all adi\ e power.

Other

344 ESSAY IV. Chap. XI.

Other good men, by a like zeal, have been led to
depreciate the human underftanding, and to put out
the light of natui-e and reafon, in order to exalt
that of revelation.

Thofe weapons which were taken up in fupport of
religion, are now employed to overturn it ; and
what was, by fome, accounted the bulwark of or-
thodoxy, is become the ftrong hold of atheifm and
infidelity.

Atheifts join hands with Theologians, in depriv-
ing man of all a<^ive power, that they may deflroy
all moral obligation, and all fenfe of right and
wrong. They join hands with Theologians, in de-
preciating the human underftanding, that they may
lead us into abfolute fcepticifm.

God, in mercy to the human race, has made us
of fuch a fraune, that no fpeculative opinion what-
foever can root out the fenfe of euilt and demerit
when we do wrong, nor the peace and joy of a
good confcience when we do ^¥hat is right. No
fpeculative opinion can root out a regard to the
teftimony of our fenfes, of our mem.ory, and of our
rational faculties. But we have reafon to be jealous
of opinions which run counter to thofe natural fen-
timents of the human mind, and tend to lliake,
though they never can eradicate them.

There is little reafon to fear, that the condurl of
men, with regard to the concerns of the prei'ent life,
vAU ever be much affecced, either by thedotlrineof
neceftity, or by fcepticifm. It were to be wiflied,
that men's condu6l, with regard to the concerns of
another life, were in as little danger from thofe
opinions.

In the prefent flatc, mt fee fome who zealoufly
maintain the dod:rinc of necefiity, others who as
zealoully maintain that of liberty. One would be
apt to think, that a pratSdcal belief of thefc contra-
ry fyilems lliould produce very diflerent conduct in
them that hold them ; yet we fee no fuch difference
in the affairs of common life.

The

OF THE PERMISSION OF EV\h. 345

The fatalift deliberates, and rcfolves, and plic^lits
his f:nth. He i.iys down a phm of conduct, and
profc^uteslt v. iih vigour and induftry. lie exhorts
and commands, and hold^ thofe to he anfwerable
tor their cmduct to whom he hath committed any
charge. He blames thole that are talle or unfaithtul
to him as other men do. He perceives dignity and
wortii ill fome charaftcrs and actions, and in others
den;riit. and turpitude. He relents injuries, and is
grateful for good offices.

If any man fhould plead the doclrine of neceflity
to exculpate rnuruer, theft, or robbery, or even
wilful ncii;ligence in the difcharge of his duty, his
judge, though a fatalift, if he had common I'cnfe,
Vv'ould laugh at fuch a plea, and would not allow it
even to alleviate the crime.

In all luch cafes, he fees that it would be abfurd
not to act and to iud2:e as thofe oug^ht to do who
believe themfelves and other men to be free agents,
jult as the fceptic, to avoid abfurdity, muft, when
he goes into the world, act and judge like other
men who are not fceptics.

If the fatalift be as little influenced by the opini-
on of necclTity in his moral and religious concerns,
and in his expectations concerning another world,
as he is in the common affairs of life, his fpecula-
tive opinion will probably do him little hurt. But,
if Isc truft fo far to the doclirinc of ncccffity, as to
indulge iloth and inactivity in his duty, and hope
to exculpate himfelf to his Maker by that doctrine,
let him confider whether he accepts this excufe from
his (ervants arui ilcpendants, when they are negli-
gent or unfaithful in what is committed to their
charge.

hifhop l"5uTi,KR, in his Anah^y, has an excellent
chapter upon the opinion of necejfity confidcrcd as influ-
encing^ prni'iiii\ wliich I think highly dci'erving the
confideration uf thofe who are inciiued to fiiat opi-
nion.

E S S A '1'

ESSAY V.

OF MORALS.

CHAP. I.

Of the Firjl Fnncipks of Morals.

JVl ORAL S, like all other fcicnces, muft have
firft principles, on which all moral realbning is
grounded.

In every branch of knowledge where difputes have
been raifed, it is ufeful to dillinguifli the firft princi-
ples from the fuperrtriicturc, Ihey are the founda-
tion on which the whole fabric of the fcience leans ;
and whatever is not fupported by this foundation
c an have no (lability.

In all rational belief, the thing believed is cither
itfclf a full principle, or it is by juft reafoning de-
duced from firft j>rinciplcs. When men differ about
deductions t)f realbning, the appeal mult be to the
rules of reafoning, which have been very unani-
moufly hxed from the days of Arisi'oile. But
when they diillr a'oout a firft principle, the appeal
is made to another tribunal; to that of common
fcnfe.

How the genuiiic dccifions of common fenfe may
be diftinguilhed from the counterfeit, has been con-
ildercd in cflay fixtli, on the Intelleclual l-'owers of
Man, chapter fourth, to which the reader is referred.
\V hat I would here obferve is, That as firft principles

difter

348 E S S A Y V. Chap. I.

differ from deductions of reafoning in the nature of
their evidence, and muft be tried by a different ftand-
ard when they are called in queftion, it is of impor-
tance to know to which of thefe two claffes a truth
which we would examine, belongs. When they are
not diftinguilhed, men are apt to demand proof for
every thing they think fit to deny : And when we
attempt to prove by direcl argument, what is really
felf-evident, the reafoning will always be inconclu-
fivc ; for it will either take for granted the thing
to be proved, or fomething not more evident ; and
fo, inftead of giving ftrength to the conclufion,
will rather tempt thofe to doubt of it, \\ho never
did fo before.

I propofe, therefore, in this chapter, to point out
fome of the firll principles of morals, witliout pre-
tending to a complete enumeration.

The principles I am to mention, relate either
to virtue in general, or to the diilerent particular
branches of virtue, or to the comparifon of virtues
where they fcem to interfere.

1. There are fome things in human conduct, that
merit approbation a}id praife, others that merit blame
?:nd punilhment ; and diilerent degrees either of ap-
probation or of blame, are due to different actions.

2. What is in no degree voluntary, can neither
deferve moral approbation nor blame.

3. What is done from unavoidable neceffity may
be agreeable or diiagrceable, ufefal or hurtful, but
cannot be the object either of blame or of" moral
approbation.

4. Men may ])e iiighly culpable in omitting what
they ought to have done, as well as in doing what
they ought not.

5. We ought to ufe the belt -means we can to
be well informed of our duty, by Icrious attention
to moral inllrut'iion ; by obferving what we approve,
and what we dilapprove, in other men, whether our
acquaintance, or iliofe v.'iiofe actioriii arc recorded in

hillorv :

OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.

349

hiftory ; by reflecting often, in a calm and difpalli-
onate hour, on ooar own paft conduct, that we may
difcern what was wrong, and what was right, and
what miglit have been better ; by deliberating coolly
and impartially upon our future conduct, as far as
we can forcfce the opportunities we may have of do-
ing good, or the temptations to do wrong ; and by
having this principle deeply fixed in our minds, that
as moral excellence is the true \^ orth and glory of a
man, fo the knowledge of our duty is to every man,
in every ftation of life, the moil important of all
knowledge.

6. It ought to be our mod ferious concern to do
our duty as far as wc know it, and to fortify our
minds againft every temptation to deviate from it ;
by maintaining a lively fenfe of the beauty of right
conduct, and of its prefcnt and future reward, of
the turpitude of vice, and of its bad confequences
here and hereafter ; by having always in our eye the
nobleil examples ; by the habit of fubj eating our
paffions to the government of reafon ; by firm pur-
pofes and refolutions with regard to our conduct ;
by avoiding occafions of temptation when we can ;
and by imploring the aid of him who made us, in
every hour of temptation.

Thefe principles concerning virtue and vice in ge-
neral, muft appear felf-evident to every man who
hath a confciencc, and who hath taken pains to cx-
crcife this natural power of his mind. I pi'oceed to
others that are more particular.

I. We ought to prefer a greater good, tliough
more diilant, to a Icfs ; and a lefs evil to a greater.

A regard to our own good, though wc had no
confciencc, dictates this principle ; and we cannot
help dif^jpproving the man that acts contrary to it,
as deferving to lofc the good which he wantonly
threw away, and to fuficr the evil w hich he know-
ingly brought upon his own head.

35° ESSAY V. Chap. I.

We obferved before, that the ancient moraliils,
and many among the modern, have deduced the
whole of morals from this principle, and that when
we make a right cRimate of goods and evils accord-
ing to their degree, their dignity, their duration,
and according as they are more or lefs in our power,
it leads to the practice of every virtue : More di-
redlly, indeed, to the virtues of felf-government,
to prudence, to temperance, and to fortitude ; and,
though more indirectly, even to juftice, humanity,
and all the focial virtues, when their influence upon
our happinefs is well underftood.

Though it be not the nobleft principle of conduct,
it has this peculiar advantage, that its force is felt
by the moft ignorant, and even the moft abandoned.

Let a man's moral judgment be ever fo little im-
proved by exercife, or ever fo much corrupted by
bad habits, he cannot be indifferent to his own hap-
pinefs or mifery. When he is become infenfible to
every nobler motive to right conduct, he cannot be
infenfible to this. And thoug:h to act from this mo-
tive folely may be called prudence rather than virtue^
yet this prudence deferves fome regard upon its own
account, and much more as it is the friend and ally
of virtue, and the enemy of all vice ; and as it gives
a favourable teftimony of virtue to thofe who are
deaf to every other recommendation.

If a man can be induced to do his duty even from
a regard to his own happinefs, he will foon find rea-
fon to love virtue for her ov/n fake, and to act from
motives lefs mercenary.

I cannot therefore approve of thofc moralifls, who
would banifh all perfuafivcs to virtue taken from the
confidcration of private good. In the prefent ftate
of human nature thefe are not ufclcfs to the bcft,
and they arc the only means left of reclaiming the
abandoned.

2. As far as the intention of nature appears in the
conflitution of man, we ought to comply with that
intention, and to a<5l agreeably to it.

The

OF TFIE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 551

The Author of our being hath given us not only
the power of acling within a limited fpherc, but va-
rious principles or fprings of action, of different
nature and dignity, to dirccft us in the exercife of
our aclive power.

From the conftitution of every fpecies of the in-
ferior animals, and efpccially from the a6iive princi-
ples which nature has given them, we eafily perceive
the manner of life for which nature intended them;
and they uniformly aft the part to which they are
led by their conftitution, without any reflection up-
on it, or intention of obeying its dictates. Man
only, of the inhabitants of this world, is made ca-
pable of obfcrving his own conftitution, what kind
of life it is made for, and of ading according to
that intention, or contrary to it. He only is capa-
ble of yielding an intentional obedience to the dic-
tates of his nature, or of rebelling againft: them.

In treating of the principles of action in man, it
has been Ihcwn, that as his natural inftincts and bo-
dily appetites, arc well adapted to the prefervation
of his natural life, and to the continuance of the
fpecies ; fo his natural dcfircs, affc(^tions, and pafti-
ons, when uncorrupted by vicious habits, and un-
der the government of the leading principles of rea-
fon and confcience, are excellently fitted for the ra-
tional and focial life, livery vicious aftion Ihcws an
excefsjor defect, or wrong direction of fome natural
fpring of action, and therefore may, very juftly, be
laid to be unnatural. Every virtuous action agrees
with the uncorrupted principles of human nature.

The Stoics defined virtue tol)e a life according to
nature. Some of them more accurately, a life ac-
cording to the nature of man, in fo far as it is ibpe-
rior to that of brutes. 'I'he life of a brute is ac-
cording to the nature of the brute ; but it is nci-
tlier virtuous nor vicious. The life of a moral agent
cannot be according to his nature, unlefs it be vir-
tuous. That confcience, wliich is in every man's
breaft, is the law of God wriucn in his heart, which

352 E S S A Y V. Chap. I.

he cannot difobey uithout acfting unnaturally, and
being felt-condcnincd.

The intention ot nature, in the various active
principles of man, in the defires ot power, of know-
ledge, and of efteem, in the affection to children, to
near relations, and to the comiTiUnities to which we
belong, in gratitude, in compaffion, and even in re-
fentment and emulation, is very obvious, and has
been pointed out in treating of thofe principles.
Nor is it lefs evident, that reaibn and conscience are
given us to regulate the inferior principles, fo that
they may confpire, in a regular and confiilent plan
of life, in purfuit of fome worthy end.

3. No man is born for hlmfelf only. Every man,
therefore, ought to confider himfelf as a member of
the common fociety of mankind, and of thofe fub-
ordinate focieties to which he belongs, fuch as fami-
ly, friends, neighbourhood, country, and to do as
much good as he can, and as little hurt to the focie-
ties of which he is a part.

This axiom leads dircclly to the practice of every
focia.l virtue, and indireclly to the virtues of felf-
government, by which only we can be qualified for
difcharging the duty we owe to fociety.

4. In every cafe, we ought to act that part to-
M-ards another, which we would judge to be right
in him to act toward us, if we were in his circum-
ftances and he in ours ; or, more generally, what
we approve in others, that we ought to practife in
like circumftanccs, and what we condemn in others
we ought not to do.

If there be any fuch thing as riglit and wrong in
the conduct of moral agents, it muil be the fame to
all in the fame circumftances.

We ftand all in the fame relation to liim who made
us, and will call us to account for our condu-ft ; for
with him there is no refpect of pcrfons. Wc ftand
in the Umie relation to one another as members of
the great community of mankind. The duties con-

• fequent

OF THE FIRST FRINCIPLFS OF MORALS. 353

fcfjucnt upon the diiTcrent ranks and olliccsand rela-
tions of men are the fame to all in tlie f.ime circum-
flances.

It- is not want of judgment, but want of candour
and impartiality, that hinders men from difcerning
what tlicy owe to others. They are quickfighted
enough in difcerning what is due to thcmfclves.
When they are injured, or ill-treated, they fee it,
and feel rcfentment. It is the want of candour that
makes men ufe one meafure for the duty they owe
to others, and another meafure for the duty that
others owe to them in like circumflances. That men
ought to judge with candour, as in all other cafes,
fo eipecialiy in what concerns their moral conduct,
is furcly fcif-evident to every intelligent being. The
man wiio takes offence when he is injured in his per-
fon, in his property, in his good name, pronounces
judgment againft himfelf if he acT fo toward his
neighbour.

As the equity und obligation of this rule of con-
duct is felf-evident to every man who hath a confci-
cnce ; fo it is, of all the rules of morality, the moft
coinprehenfive, and truly deferves the encomium
given it by the highcft authority, that // is the laio
and the prophets.

It comprehends every rule of jufdce without ex-
ception. It comprehends all the relative duties,
arifmg either from the more permanent relations of
parent and child, of niafter and fervant, of magif-
trate and fuhjecl, of hulband and wife, or from the
more tranfient relations of rich and poor, of buyer
and feller, of debtor and creditor, of benefactor and
benehciary, of friend and enemy. It comprehends
every duty of charity and humanity, and even of
courtefy and good manners.

Nay, I think, that, without any force or ftraining,
it extends even to the duties of felf-government.
Tor, as every man approves in others the virtues of
prudence, temperance, fclf-command ajid fortitude.

354 ESSAY V. Chap. I.

he mufl: perceive, that what Is right in others
muft be right in himfelf in like circumllances.

To fum up all, he who acls invariably by this rule
will never deviate from the path of his duty, but
from an error of judgment. And, as he feels the
obligation that he and all men are under to ufe the
beft means in his power to have his judgment well-
informed in matters of duty, his errors will only be
fuch as are invincible.

It may be obferved, that this axiom fuppofes a fa-
culty in man by which he can diftinguifh right con-
duct from wrong. It fuppofes alfo, that, by this
faculty, we eafily perceive the right and the wrong
in other men that are indifferent to us ; but are very
apt to be blinded by the partiality of felfifh pafllons
Avhen the cafe concerns ourfelves. Every claim we
have againft others is apt to be magnified by felf-love,
when viewed directly. A change of perfons removes
this prejudice, and brings the claim to appear in its
juft magnitude.

:;. To every man who believes the exiftence, the
perfeflions, and the providence of God, the vene-
ration and fubmiffion we owe to him is felf-evident.
Right fentiments of the Deity and of his works, not
only make the duty we owe to him obvious to eve-
ry intelligent being, but likewifc add the authority
of a Divine law to every rule of right conduct.

There is another clafs of axioms in morals, by
which, when there feems to be an oppofition between
the actions that different virtues lead to, we deter-
mine to which the preference is due.

Between the feveral virtues, as they are difpofitions
of mind, or determinations of will, to acl accord-
ing to a certain general rule, there can be no oppofi-
tion. They dwell together moft amicably, and give
mutual aid and ornament, without the polTibility of
hoftility or oppofition, and, taken altogether, make
one uniform and confiftcnt rule of condu<5t. But,
between particular external aiitions, which different

virtues

OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 35;

virtues would lead to, there may a oppofition. Thus,
the fame man may be in his heart, ^j^encrous, grateful
and jurt. Thele dirpofitions llrengthen, but never
can weaken one another. Yet it may happen, that
an external aftion which gencroiity or gratitude
lolicits, julHce may forbid.

That in all luch cafes, unmerited generofity fliould
yield to gratitude, and both to jultice, is felf-evi-
dent. Nor is it lefs fo, that unmerited beneficence
to thofe who are at eafe fliould yield to compaflion
to the miferable, and external acts of piety to works
of mercy, becaufe God loves mercy more than
lacrilice.

At the Hime time, we perceive, that thofe a<51:s of
virtue which ought to yield in the cafe of a compe-
tition, have molt intrinfic worth when there is no
competition. Thus, it is evident that there is more
worth in pure and unmcriicd benevolence than in
compaflion, more in compaflion than in gratitude,
and more in gratitude than in juftice.

1 call thcfe ///■// priyicipLs, becaufe they appear to
me to have in themfelves an intuitive evidence which
I cannot reflft. I find I can exprefs them in other
words. I can illuftrate them by examples and au-
thorities, and perhaps can deduce one of them from
another ; but I am not able to deduce them from
other principles that are more evident. And I find
the beft moral rcafonings of authors I am acquainted
with, ancient and modern. Heathen and Chriftian,
to be grounded upon one or more of them.

The evidence of mathematical axioms is not dif-
ccrned till men come to a certain degree of matu-
rity of underftanding. A boy muft have formed
the general conception of quantity^ and of more and
Icfs ,indeq:((il, oifivn -and dijfircncc \ and he muft have
been accuftomed to judge of thefe relations in mat-
ters of common life, before he can perceive the evi-
dence ot the mathematical axiom, that equal quan-
tities, added tq equal quantitie:i, make equal funis.

Z 2 la

356 E S S A Y V. Chap. L

In like manner, our moral judgment, or confci-
cnce, grows to maturity from an imperceptible feed,
planted by our Creator. When we are capable of
contemplating the actions of other men, or of re-
fle(^ing upon our own calmly and difpaflionatcly,
we begin to perceive in them the qualities of honeft
and difhoncft, of honourable and bafe, of right and
wrong, and to feel the fentiments of moral appro-
bation and difapprobation.

Thefe fentiments are at firft feeble, eafily warped
by paliions and prejudices, and apt to yield to au-
thority. By ufe and time, the judgment, in morals
as in other matters, gathers ftrength, and feels more
visrour. We bejjin to diftinc-uifh the dictates of
paflion from thole of cool rcafon, and to perceive,
that it is not always fafe to rely upon the judgment
of others. By an impulfe of nature, we venture to
judge for ourfelves, as we venture to walk by our-
felves.

There is a ftrong analogy between the progrefs of
the body from infancy to maturity, and the progrefs
of all the powers of the mind. This progrcfilon in
both is the work of nature, and in both may be
greatly aided or hurt by proper education. It is
natural to a man to be able to walk or run or leap ;
but if his limbs had been kept in fetters from his
birth, he would have none of thofc powers. It is
no leis natural to a man trained in fociety, and ac-
cuftomed to judge of his own a61ions and thofe of
other men, to perceive a right and a wrong, an ho-
nourable and a bafe, in human conducft ; and to
fuchaman, I think, the principles of morals I have
above mentioned will appear felf-evident. Yet there
may be individuals of the human fpecies fo little
accuftomcd to think or judge of any thing, but oF
gratifying their animal appetites, as to have hardly
any conception of right or M'rong in condud, or
any moral judgment ; as there certainly are fome

who

OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS. 357

who have not the conceptions and the judgment ne-
ccHary to undcrftand the axioms of i^eometry.

From the principles above mentioned, the whole
fyftem of moral conduct follows fo ealily, and with
fo little aid of reafonini^, that every man of common
undcrllanding, who wilhes to know his duty, may
know it. 'Ihe path of duty is a plain path, which
the upriglit in heart can rarely miibike. Such it
mult be, iince every man is bound to wallc in it.
There are ibme intricate cafes in morals which admit
ot difputation ; but thefe feldom occur in practice ;
and, v/hen they do^ the learned difputant has no
great advantage : For the unlearned man, who ufes
the beft means in his power to know his duty, and
a(!:is according to his knowledge, is inculpable in the
light of God and man. lie may err, but he is not
guilty of immorality.

c li A P. n.

Of Sy^ems of Morals,

If the knowledge of our duty be fo level to the ap-
prehenfion of all men, as has been reprefentv'd in the
lad chapter, it may feem hardly to deferve the name
of a fcience. It may feem that there is no need for
inilruCtion in morals.

From what caufe then has it happened, that wc
have many large and learned fyllems of moral phi-
lolbphy, and iyftems of natural jurifpruilence, or
the law of nature and nations ; and that, in modern
times, public profeflions have been inflituted in moif
places of education for inUrucHing youth in thjfe
branches of knowledge ?

This

358 ESSAY V. Chap. II.

This event, I think, may be accounted for, and
the utility of fuch fyftems and profeifions jultified,
without fuppofing any difficulty or intricacy in the
knowled'jfe of our duty.

I am far from thinking inftru<5tion in morals un-
neceflary. Men may, to the end of life, be ignorant
of fclf-evident truths. Thzj may, to the end of
life, entertain grofs abfurdiries. Experience ilicws
that this happens often in matters that are indifferent.
Much more may it happen in matters where intereft,
paffion, prejudice and fafhion, are fo apt to pervert
the judgment.

The moft obvious truths are not perceived without
-fome ripenefs of judgment. For we fee, that chil-
dren may be made to believe any thing, though
ever fo abfurd. Our judgment of things is ripened,
not by time only, but chiefly by being exercifed about
things of the fame or of a liniilar kind.

Judgment, even in things felf-evident, requires a
clear, dilHn<5l and fteady conception of the things
about which we judge. Our conceptions are at firft
obfcure and wavering. The habit of attending to
them is neceffary to make them diilinci and fteady ;
and this habit requires an exertion of mind to which
many of our animal principles are unfriendly. The
love of truth calls for it ; but its flill voice is often
drowned by the louder call of fome pailion, or we
are hindered from lillening to it by lazinefs and de-
fultorinefs. Thus men often remain through life
ignorant of things wliich they needed but to open
their eyes to fee, and which tiiey would have leen if
tlieir attention had been turned to them.

'I'he moll knowing derive the greateft part of their
"knowledge, even in things obvious, from inftruclion
and information, and from being taught to exercife
their natural faculties, which, without inftruclion,
would lie dormant.

I am very apt to think, that, if a man could be
reared from infancy, without any fociety of his fel-
low-

OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS. 359

loAV-creatures, he would hardly c\'cr fliew any fign,
either of moral judgment, or of the power of rea-
foning. His own actions would be directed by his
animal appetites and pallions, without cool reflei^iion,
and he would have no accefs to improve, by obferv-
ing the conduct of other beings like himfelf.

Tlie power of vegetation in the feed of a plant,
without heat and moiilure, v\ ould for ever lie dor-
mant. The rational and moral powers of man would
perhaps lie dormant without inllruction and example.
Yet thefe powers are a part, and the nobleft part,
of his conftitution ; as the power of vegetation is
of the feed.

Our firft moral conceptions are probably got by
attending coolly to the condudl of others, and ob-
ferving what moves our approbation, what our in-
dignation. Thefe fentiments fpring from our moral
faculty as naturally as the fenfations of fweet and
bitter from the faculty of taile. They have their
natural objects. But moft human actions are of a
mixed nature, and have various colours, according
as they are viewed on different fides. Prejudice
againft, or in favour of the perion, is apt to warp
our opinion. It requires attention and candour to
diitiuguifli the good from the ill, and, without fa-
vour or prejudice, to form a clear and impartial
judgment. \n this we may be greatly aided by in-
ilruc'tion.

He muft be very ignorant of human nature,
wlio does not perceive that the feed of virtue in the
mind ot man, like that of a tender plant in an un-
kindly foil, rccjuires care and culture in the firft pe-
riod of life, as well as our own exertion when we
come to maturity.

If the irregularities of paflion and appetite be
timely checked, and good habits planted ; if we be
excited by good examples, and bad examples be
fhcwn in their proper colour ; if the attention be
prudently directed to the precepts of wifdom and

viriue.

36o ESSAY V. Chap. II.

virtue, as the mind is capable of receivinp; them ; a
man thus trained will rarely be at a loJs to dillint^uifh
good from ill in his own condu(!:t, without the la-
bour of reafoninc;.

The bulk of mankind have but little of this cul-
ture in the proper fealon ; and what they have is
often unfkilfully applied ; by which means bad ha-
bits gather ftrength, and falfe notions of pleafure,
of honour, and of intereft, occupy the mind. They
give little attention to what is right and honeft.
Confcience is feldom confulted, and fo little exerci-
fed, that its decifions are weak and wavering. Al-
though, therefore, to a ripe underftanding, free
from prejudice, and accuftomed to judge of the
morality of actions, moll: truths in morals will ap-
pear feif-evident, it does not follow that moral in-
ftrudlion is unneceflary in the firft part of life, or
that it may not be very profitable in its more advanc-
ed period.

The hiftory of pafl: ages fiiews that nations, highly
civilized and greatly enlightened in many arts and
fciences, may, for ages, not only hold the groflell
abfurdities with regard to the Deity and his worfliip,
but with regard to the duty we owe to our fellow-
men, particularly to children, to fervants, to ftran-
gers, to enemies, and to thoie who diller from us in
religious opinions.

JSuch corruptions in religion, and in morals, had
fpread fo wide among mankind, and were fo confirn -
ed by cuilom, as to require a light from heaven to
correct them. Revelation was not intended to fu-
pcrfede, but to aid the ufe of our natural faculties ;
and 1 doubt not, but the attention given to moral
truths, in fuch fy items as we have mentioned, has
contributed much to correct the errors and prejudi-
ces of former ages, and may continue to have tlie
fame good eitect in time to come.

It need not Icem ftrange, that fyllems of morals
may fwell to great magnitude, if we confider that,

although

OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS. 361

although the general principles be few and fimplc,
their appHcation extends to every part of human
conduci, in every condition, every relation, and
every tranfaclion of life. They are the rule of life
to the magillrate and to the fubjecl:, to the mafter
and to thefervant, to the parent and to the child, to
the fellow-citizen and to the alien, to the friend and
to the enemy, to the buyer and to the feller, to tlic
borrower and to the lender. Kvery human creature
is fubject to their authority in his acf ions and words,
and even in his thoughts. They may, in this ref-
pecl, be compared to the laws of motion in the
natural world, which, though few and fimple, ferve
to regulate an infinite variety of operations through-
out the univerfe.

And as the beauty of the laws of m.otion is dif-
played in the moft Oriking manner, when we trace
them through all the variety of their clTedts ; fo the
divine beauty and fanclity of the principles of mo-
rals, appear moft auguil when we take a com.])re-
henfive view of their application to every condition
and relation, and to every tranfaclion of human
Ibciety.

This is, or ought to be, the defign of fyftems of
morals. Tlicy m.ay be made more or lefs extenfive,
having no limits fixed by nature, but the \\ide circle
of human tranf.ictions. ^Vhen the principles are ap-
]>lied to thele in detail, the detail is pleafant and pro-
iitablc. It requires no profound reafoning, (except-
ing, perhaps, in a few dilnutable points.) It achiiits
of the moll agreeable illullration from examples and
authorities ; it fervcs to exercife, and thereby to
itrengthcn moral jiulgmcnt. And one who has given
much attention to the duty of man, in all the vari-
ous relations and circumftances of life, will probably
be more enlighteiK^d in his own duty, and more able
to enlighten others.

The firft writers in morals, we are acquainted with,
delivered their moral inllruclions, not in iyiiems,

but

3<J2 ESSAY V, Chap. II.

but in fhort unconne<5led fentences, or aphorifms.
They faw no need for deductions of reafoning, be-
caufc the truths they delivered could not but be ad-
mitted by the candid and attentive.

Subfequent writers, to improve the way of treat-
ing this fubjed, gave method and arrangement
to moral truths, by reducing them under certain
divilions and fubdivifions, as parts of one whole.
By thefe means the whole is more ealily comprehend-
ed and remembered, and from this arrangement
gets the name of a fyftcm and a fcience.

A fvftcm of morals is not like a fyftem of c:eo-
metry, where the fubfequcnt parts derive their evi-
dence from the preceding, and one chain of reafon-
ing is carried on from the beginning ; fo that, if the
arrangement is changed, the chain is broken, and
the evidence is loft. It refembles more a fyftem of
botany, or mineralogy, where the fubfequent parts
depend not for their evidence upon the preceding,
and the arrangem.ent is made to facilitate appreheu-
iion and memory, and not to give evidence.

Morals have been mcthodifed in different ways.
The ancients commonly arranged them under the
four cardinal virtues of prudence, temperance, for-
titude, and juftice. Chriftian writers, I think more
properly, under the three heads of the duty we owe
to God, to ourfelves, and to our neighbour. One
divifion may be more comprchcnfive, or more na-
tural, tlian another ; but the truths arranged are the
fame, and their evidence the fame in all.

I fliall only farther obferve, with regard to fyf-
tcms of morals, that they have been made more vo-
luminous, and more intricate, partly by mixing po-
litical queftions with morals, which I think impro-
per, becaufe they belong to a dilTcrcnt fcience, and
are gri)unded on different principles ; partly by mak-
ing what is commonly, but I think improperly, call-
ed' ibc Theory of Morals, a part of the fvftcm.

OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS. 363

By the theory of morals is meant a juft account
of the llruclure of our moral powers ; that is, of
thofc powers of the mind by which we have our
moral conceptions, and diftinp;uifh ri;;ht from wronj^
in Imman actions, 'i'his, indeed, is an intricate
fubjecT:, and there have been various theories and
much controvcrfy al)t)ut it in ancient and in modern
times. But it has little connection with the know-
ledge of our duty ; and thofe who differ mod in the
theory of our moral powers, agree in the practical
rules of morals which they diclate.

As a man may be a good judge of colours, and of
the other viiible qualities of objects, without any
knowledge c^f the anatomy of the eye, and of the
theory of vifion ; i'o a man may have a very clear
and comprehenfive knowledge of what is right and
what is wrong in human conducl, who never iludi-
ed the ftruclurc of our moral powers.

A good ear in mufic may be much improved by
attention and practice in that art ; but very little by
ftudying the anatomy of the ear, and the theory of
found. In order to acquire a good eye or a good
car in the arts that require them, the theory of vi-
iion and the theory of found, are by no means ne-
celVary, and indeed of very little ufe. Of as little
ncceility or uil- is what we call the theory of morals,
in order to improve our moral judgment.

I mean not to depreciate this branch of knowledge.
It is a very important part of tlie philofophy of the
human mind, and ought to be confidered as fucl^,
but not as any part of morals. By the name we give
to it, and by the cuilom of miaking it a part of eve-
ry lyftem ot iiiorals, nten may be led into this grols
millake, which I wilh to obviate. That in order to
underftand his duty, a man mufl needs be a philofo-
pher and a mctiphylician.

c: H A p.

3^4 ESSAY V. Chap. III.

CHAP. 111.

Of Syjlems of Natural Jurifprudena.

OY STEMS of natural jurifprudence, of the
rights of peace and war, or of the law of nature
and nations, are a modern invention, which foon
acquired fuch reputation, as gave occafion to many
public eftablilliments for teaching it along with the
other fcicnces. It has fo clofe a relation to morals,
that it may anfwer the purpofe of a fyftem of mo-
rals, and is commonly put in the place of it, as far,
at, leaft, as concerns our duty to our fellow-men.
They ditfer in the name and form, but agree in fub-
ftance. This will appear from a flight attention to
the nature of both.

The direci: intention of morals is to teach the du-
ty of men : that of natural jurifprudence, to teach
tlie rigiits of men. Right and duty are things very
different, and have even a kind of oppofition ; yet
they are fo related, that the one cannot even be
conceived without tlie other; and he that under-
Ifands the one muif underlland the other.

They have the fame relation which credit has to
debt. As all credit fuppofes an equivalent debt ; i'o
all right fuppofes a correfponding duty. I'herc cau
be no credit in one party without an equivalent debt
in another party ; and there can be no right in one
party, without a correfponding duty in another par-
ty. The fum of credit fhcws the fum of debt ; and
the fum of mcn^ rights fhcws, in like manner, the
i'um t)f their duty to one another.

The word right has a very dificrcnt meaning, ac-
cording as it is applied to aclions or to pcrfons.

A right

OF SYSTEMS OF NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. 365

A right action is an action agreeable to our duty.
But when we fpeak of the rights at men, the word
has a very different and a more artificial meaning.
It is a term of art in law, and fignifics all that a
man may lawfully do, all that he may lawfully pof-
fefs and ufc, and all that he may lawfully claim of
any other perfon.

This com prehen five meaning of the word r/i^/'/,
and of the Latin word j//s, which corrcfponds to it,
thouQ^h lone: adopted into common lansfuaoe, is too
artificial to be the birth of common lanii;ua<j[e. It
is a term of art, contrived by Civilians v>hen the
civil law became a profcHion.

The whole end and objccT of law is to prote<5^ tlie
fubjecls in all that they may lawfully do, or poffcfs,
or demand. This threefold object of law, Civilians
have comprehended under the word Jus or right,
which they define, Fiicuftas aUqu'id agcndi, vcl p'jjTi-
dcndi, vcl ab alio confcqucndi : A lawful claim to do
any thing, to poirefs any thing, or to demand fome
prcftation from fome other perfon. The firft of thele
may be called the right of liberty, the fecond that of
property, which is alfo called a reed right, the third is
called perfoucd ri\^ht, becaufe it refpects fome particu-
lar perfon or perions of whom the prcftation may be
demanded.

We can be at no lofs to perceive the duties corref-
ponding to the I'cveral kinds of rights. What I have
a right to do, it is the duty of all men not to hin-
der nie from doing. WTiat is my prc^perty or real
right, no man ought to take from me ; or to moleit
me in the ufe and enjoyment of it. iVnd what I
have a right to demand of any m^n, it is his duty to
perform, lietv/een the right, on the one hand, and
the duty on the other, there is not only a ncceflary
conncc'tion, but, in reality, they are only dillercnt
expredions of the fame meaning; juft as it is the
fame thing to fay 1 am your debtor, and to fay you
are my creditor ; or as it is the fame thing to fay 1
am your father, and to fay you arc my fon.

Thui

3^6 ESSAY V. Chap. III.

Thus wc fee, that there is fuch a correfpondcnce
between the ri^^hts of men and the duties of men,
that the one points out the other ; and a fyftem of
the one may be fublHtuted for a fyftem of the other.
But here an objection occurs. It may be faid.
That although every right implies a duty, yet every
duty does not imply a right. Thus, it may be my
duty to do a humane or kind ofiice to a man who
has no claim of right to it ; and therefore a fyftem
of the rights of men, though it teach all the duties
of ftrifl juftice, yet it leaves out all the duties of cha-
rity and humanity, without which the fyftem of
morals muft be very lame.

In anfwer to this objection, it may be obferved.
That, as there is a ftricl notion of juftice, in which
it is diftinguiftied from humanity and charity, fo
there is a more extenfive fignification of it, in which
it includes thofe virtues. The ancient moralifts,
both Greek and Roman, under the cardinal virtue
of juftice, included beneficence ; and, in this exten-
five fenfe, it is often ufed in common language.
The like mav be faid of rio-ht, which, in a fenfe not
uncommon, is extended to every proper clami of
humanity and charity, as well as to the claims of
ftricl juftice. But as it is proper to diftinguifli thefe
two kinds of claims by different names, writers in
natural jurifprudence have given the name of perfect
rights to the claims of ftrict juftice, and that of //;/-
perfect rights to the claims of charity and humanity.
Thus, ail the duties of humanity have imperfedi
rights correfponding to them, as thofe of ftricl juf-
tice have perfeft rights.

Another objedtion may be. That there is ftill a
ckfs of duties to which no right, perfed or imper-
fect, correfponds.

We are bound in duty to pay due refpect, not
only to w^hat is truly the right of another, but to
what, through ignorance or mifrakc, we believe to
be his right. Thus, if iny neighbour is poirefted of

a horfc

OF SYSTEMS OF NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. 367

a horfe which he ftolc, and to which he has no right ;
while I believe the horfe to be really his, and am ig-
norant of the theft, it is my duty to pay the lame
rcfpecl to this conceived right as if it were real.
Here, then, is amoral obligation on one party, with-
out any corrcfponding right on the other.

To lupply this defect in the fyftem of rights, fo
as to make right and duty correfpond in every in-
ftance, waiters in jurifprudcnce have had rccourfe to
fomcthing like what is called a fiction of law. They
give the name of right to tlic claim which even the
thief hath to the goods he has llolcn, while the theft
is unknown, and to all fimilar claims grounded on
the ignorance or miftake of the parties concerned.
And to diilinguifli this kind of right from genuine
rights, perfect or impcrfedt, they call it an external
ritjfht.

Thus it appears. That although a fyftem of the
perfecl: rights of men, or the rights of ftrict juftice,
would be a lame fubltitute for a fyftem of human
duty ; yet when we add to it the impcrfecb and the
external rights, it comprehends the whole duty we
owe to our fcllow-mcn.

But it may be afkcd. Why flioukl men be taught
their duty in this indircft way, by reflection, as it
were, from the rights of other men ?

Perhaps it may be thought, that this indirecT way
may be more agreeable to the pride of man, as we
fee th.it men of rank lik^ better to hear of obligati-
ons of honour than of obligations of duty (although
the dictates of true honour and of duty be tiie
fame); fur this rcafon that honour puts a man in
mind of what he owes to himfclf, whereas duty is
a more humiliating idea. For a like reafon, men
may attend more v/iliingly to their rights, which
put them in mind of their dignity, than to their
duties, which fuggeft their dependence. And we
fee that men may give great attention to their rights
who give but little to their duty.

Whatever

368 ESSAY V. Chap. III.

Whatever truth there may be in this, I believe
better reaions can be given why fyftems of natural
jurifprudcnce liavc been contrived and put in the
place of fyllenis of morals.

Syilems of civil law were invented many ages be-
fore we had any fyflem of natural jurifprudcnce ;
and the former fecm to have fuGCLcelied the idea of
the latter.

Such is the wcakncfs of human underftanding,
that no large body of knowledge can be eahly appre-
hended and remembered, unlefs it be arranged and
methodifed, that is, reduced into a fyilcm. When
the laws of the Roman people were multiplied to
a great degree, and the ftudy of them became an
honourable and lucrative profeilion, it became ne-
cellary that they fliould be methodifed into a fyftcm.
And the moft natural and obvious way of method-
ifing law was found to be according to the divifions
and fubdiviiions of mens rights, which it is the in-
tention of law to protedL

The ftudy of law produced not only fyftems of
law, but a language for exprcffing them. Kvery art
has its terms of art for exprefiing the conceptions
that belong to it ; and the Civilian muft have terms
for cxprefting accurately the divifions and fubdivifi-
ons of rights, and the various ways whereby they
may be acquired, transferred, or extinguifiied, in
the various tranfaclions of civil focicty. lie muft
have terms accurately defined, for the various crimes
by which mens rights are violated, not to fpeak of
the terms which exprefs the different forms of actions
at law, and the various fteps of the procedure of ju-
dicatories.

Thofe who have been bred to any profeflion are
very prone to ufe the terms of their profefnon in
fpeaking or writing on fubjecls that have any analo-
gy to it. And they may do fo v/ith advantage, as
terms of art are commonly more precife In their fig-
nification, and better defined, than the words of

common

OF SYSTEMS OF NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. 369

common language. To fuch perfons it is alfo very
natural to model and arrange other fubjec^s, as far
as their nature admits, into a method iimilar to that
of the fyftem which fills their minds.

It might, therefore, be expected, that a Civilian,
intending to give a detailed fyftem of morals, would
ufc many of the terms of civil law, and mould it,
as far as it can be done, into the form of a fyftem of
law, or of the rights of mankind.

The ncceffary and clofe relation of right to duty,
which we before obferved, jultilkd this : And mo-
ral duty had long been confiderecl as a laiu of nature j
a Jaw, not wrote on tables of ftone or brai^, but on
the heart of man ; a law of greater antiquity and
higher authority than the laws of particular ilates ;
a law which is binding upon all men of all nations,
and therefore is called by Cicero the la<iu of nature
and of nations.

The idea of a fyftem of" this law was worthy of
the genius of the immortal Hugo Grotius, and he
was the firft who executed it in fuch a manner as to
draw the attention of the learned in all the Euro-
pean nations ; and to give occafion to feveral prin-
ces and ftates to eftablilh public profefTors for the
tcachiuG: of this la>v.

The multitude ot commentators and annotators
upon this work of Grotius, and the public cftablilii-
ments to which it gave occafion, are fullicicnt vouch-
ers of its merit.

It is, indeed, a work fo well dcfigncd, andfofki!-
fuliy executed ; fo free from the icholaftic jargon
which iitfcotcd the learned at that time, fo much ad-
drcilcd to the common fcnfe and moral judgment of
mankind, and fo agreeably illuftratcd by examples
from ancient hiftory, and authorities from the fen-
timents of ancient authors, Heathen and Chriftian,
tlvit it mud always be cftecmed as the capital work
cf a great genius upon a moft important fubjeif.

A a Tlie

370 ESSAY V. Chap. III.

The utility of a juft fyftem of natural jiirifpru-
dencc appears, i . As it is a fvRem of the rnor,il duty
we owe to men, which, by the aid they have taken
from the terms and divifions of the civil law, has
been given more in detail and more fyftematically by
writers in natural jurifprudence than it was former-
ly. 2. As it is the beft preparation for the ftudy of
law, being, as it were, caft in the mou'd, and ufmg
and explaining many of the terms of the civil law,
on M'hich the law of the moft European nations is
grounded. 3. It is- of ufe to lawgivers, v/ho ought
to make their laws as agreeable as poffible to the law
of nature. And as laws made by m.en, like all hu-
m.an works, muft be imperfect, it points out the er-
rors and imperfections of human laws. 4. To judges
and interpreters of the lavv' it is of ufe, becaufe that
interpretation ought to be preferred which is found-
ed in the law of nature. 5. It is of ufe in civil con-
troverfies between ftates, or between individuals vrho
have no common fuperior. In fuch controvcrfies,
the appeal muft be made to the law of nature ; and
the ftandard fyftems of it, particularly that of Gro-
Tius, have great authority. And, 6. to fay no
more upon this point. It is of great ufe to fovereigns
and ftates who are above all human laws, to be fo-
lemniy admonifhed of the conducl tliey are bound
to obferve to their own fubjecls, to the fubjecSts of
other ftates, and to one another, in peace and in
war. The better and the more generally the law of
nature is underftood, the greater diihonour, in pub-
lic eftimation, will follow every violation of it.

Some authors have imagined, that fyftems of na-
tural jurifprudencc ought to be confined to the per-
fect rights of men, becaufe the duties which corref-
pond to the imperfed rights, the duties of charity
and humanity cannot be enforced by human laws,
but muft be left to the judgment and coiifcicncc of
men, free from compuIUon. But the fyftems which
have had the grcateft applaufe of the public, have

not

OF SYSTEMS OF NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. 371

not followed this plan, and, I conceive, for good rea-
Ibns. /'7r//, Becaufc a fyftcm of pcrfecl rights could
by no means fcrve the purpofc of a fyftem of morals,
which furcly is an important purpofe. Secondly^ Bc-
caufe, in many cafes, it is hardly poflible to fix the
precife limit between juftice and humanity, between
perfect and imperfccl right. Like the colours in a
prifmatic .image, they run into each other, fo that
the beft eye cannot fix the precife boundary between
them. 'T/'/W/y, As wife legillators and magiftrates
ouorht to have it as their end to make the citizens

o .....

good, as well as juft, we find, in all civilized nati-
ons, laws that are intended to encourage the duties
of humanity. Where human laws cannot enforce
them by punidiments, they may encoupage them by
rewards. Of this the wifeif IjgilLitors have given
examples ; and how far this branch of legiilation
may be carried no man can fee.

The fubilance of the four following chapters was
wrote long ago, and read in a literary fociety, with
a view to juftify fome points of morals from meta-
j)hyfical obje^flions urged againft them in the writ-
ings of David Hume, Lfq. If they anfwer that end,
and, at the fame time, fcrve toilluftratc the account
1 have given of our moral powers, it is hoped that
the reader will not think ihem improperly placed
here ; and that he will forgive fome repetitions, and
perhaps anachronifms, occafioned by their being
wrote at different times, and on dilTcrcnt occa-
fion,.

A a 2 CHAP.

372 ESSAY Y. Chap. IV.

CHAP. IV.

Whethi>- An A^idn Hcfervin^ Moral Approbation, mvfl
he done iviih the belief of its being morally good.

1 HERE is no part of philofophy more fubtlle
and intricate than t^iat which is called The Theory rjf
Morals. Nor is there any more plain and level l(^
the apprehenfion of man than the practical part of
morals.

In the former, the f.picurean, the Peripatetic and
the Stoic, had each his different fyflem of old ; and
almoPc every modern author of reputation has a fyf-
'tern of his own. At the fame time there is no
%ranch of human knowledge, in Avhich there is fo
general an agreement among ancients and moderns,
learned and unlearned, as in the practical rules of
morab.

From this difcord in the theor}', and harmony in
the praftical part, we may judge, that the rules of
morality ftand upon another and a firmer foundation
than the theory. And of this it is ealy to perceive
the reafon.

For, in order to know what h right and v/hat is
wrong in human conducfl, we need only liilen to
the dictates of our confcience when the mind is calm
and unruillcd, or attend to the judgment we form
of others in like circumftanccs. But, to judge of
the various theories of morals, we miuft be able to
analize and dlficct, as it were, the active powers of
the human mind, and cfpecially to analize accurate-
ly that confcience or moral power by vvhich we dif-
ccrn rio:ht from wroncr.

The

OBJECT OF MORAL ArmOBATION. 373

The confciencc may be compared to the eye ia
tliis, as in many other refpe^ts. l"|pe learned and
unlearned Tec objeAs with equal dillinctnefs. The
former have no title to diftj^te to the latter, as far
as the eye is judpfe, nor is there any difai^rcemcnt
aliout fuch matters. But to dilVect the eye, and to
ex{>lain the theory of vifion, is a dilTicult point,
M']>crcin the moft fkilful have dillcred.

From this remarkable disparity between our de-
cifions in the theory of morals and in the rules of
inoraliry, we may, I think, draw this conclurion,
'j'hat wherever we find any difagrfement between
tire practical rules of morality, which have been re-
ceived in all anjes, and the principles of any of the
theories advanced upon this fubjcct, the practical
rules ought to be the ftandard by which the theory
is to be correcled, and tliat it is both unfare and un-
philofophical to warp the practical rules, in order to
make them tally with a favourite theory.

The qucftion to be confidered in this chapter be-
longs to the pracM:ical part of morals, and therefore
;; capable of a more eafy and more certain deter-
mination. And, if it be determined in the affirma-
tive, I conceive that it may ferve as a touchffone to
try fomc celebrated theories which are inconfiftent
with that determinaUon, and which have led the
theorills tg oppofe it by very fubtile mctaphyfical
arguments.

iCvcry queftiQn about what h or is not the proper
objedt of nigral approbation, belongs to practical
moral?, and fuch is the queiliou now under confi-
deration *. Whether aCtiQn:^ deferving moral appro-
bation muft be done with the belief of their being
morally gyod ? Or, Whether an adion, done with-
out any regard to duty or to the dicfatcs of confci-
encc, can be. entitled to a moral approbation ?

In every aclion of a moral agent, his corfjience
is either aiiogether hlent, or it pronounces the action
iQ be good, or bad, or indifferent. This, I think, is

a complete

374

E S S A Y V. CifAP. IV,

a complete enumeration. If it be perfcclly filent,
the action muft be very trifling, or appear fo. For
confcience in thoO; who have exercifed it, is a very
pragmatical faculty, and meddles with every part
of our conduct, whether we delire its counfel or
not. And what a man does in perfect nmplicity,
without the leaft fufpicion of its being bad, his heart
cannot condemn him for, nor w^ill he that knows
the heart condemn him. If there was any previous
culpable negligence or inattention wliich led him to
a wrong judgment, or hindered his forming a right
one, that I do not exculpate. I only coniider the
action done, and the difpofition with which it was
done, without its previous circumftances. And in
this there appears nothing that merits difiipproba-
tion. A.S little can it merit any degree of moral ap-
probation, becaufc there was neither good nor ill in-
tended. And the fame may be fjid when confcience
pronounces the action to be indifferent.

If, in the fccond place, I do what my confcience pro-
nounces to be bad or dubious, I am guilty to myfelf,
and juflly deferve the difapprobaticn of others. Nor
am I lefs guilty in this cafe, though what I judged to
be bad fhould happen to be good or indifferent. 1 did
it believing it to be bad, and this is an immorality.

Lajily^ If I do what my confcience pronounces to be
right and my duty, either I have fome regard to du-
ty, or 1 have none. The laft is not fuppofable ; for
I believe there is no man fo abandoned, but that
he does what he believes to be his duty, with more
affurance and alacrity upon that account. The more
weight the rectitude of the action has in determin-
ing mc to do it, the more I approve of my own con-
duct. And if my worldly intcreft, my appetites or
inclinations draw me ftrongly the contrary v/ay, my
following the dictates of my confcience, in oppofi-
tion to thcfe motives, adds to the moral worth of
the a(^lion.

Whea

OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 375

When a man acts from an erroneous judgment,
if liis error be invincible, ail agree that he is incul-
pable : But if his error be owing to fome pre\ ious
negligence or inattention, there feems to be fome dif-
ference among moraiills. This diH'crencc, however,
is only fccmiug, and not real. For wherein lies the
fault in this cale .'' It muft be granted by all, liiat the
fault lies in this, and folcly in this, that he was not
at due pains to have his judgment well informed,
'i'hofe moraliits, therefore, who confider the acfiion
and the previous conduct that led to.it as one whole,
find foniething to blame in the whole ; and they do
fomoftjuftly. But thofe who take this whole to
pieces, and conlider what is blameablc and what is
right in each part, find all that is blameablc in what
preceded this wrong judgment, and nothing but
what is appro veable in what follow^ed it.

Let us fuppoie, for inttance, that a man believea
that God has indifpcnfably required him to obferve
a very rigorous faft in Lent ; and that, from a re-
gard to this fuppofed Divine command, he fafts in
fiich manner as is not only a great mortification to
his appetite, but even hurtful to his health.
' His fuperftitious opinion may be the eflecf of a
culpable negligence, for wliich he can by no means
bcjuftificd. Let him, therefore bear all the blame
upon this account that he deferves. But now, hav-
ing this opinion fixed in hi: mind, iliall he act ac-
cording to it or againft it ? Snrely we cannot hefitate
a moment i]:i this cafe. It is evident, that, in fol-
i()wing the light of his judgment, he acts the part
of a good and pious man ; wlitreas, in acting con-
trary to his judgment, he would be guilty of wil-
ful difobcdience to his Maker.

If my Icrvant, by n)illaking my orders, docs tlie
contrary of what I comuianded, believing, at the
j.imc time, that he obeys my orders, there may be
fome iault in his miitake, but to cliargc him with
tiie crime ot diiobcdience, would be inhunum and
unjuft.

Thcfc

375 E S S A Y V.' Chap. I V.

Thefe determinations appear to mc to have intui-
tive evidence, no lefs than that of mathematical
axioms. A rnan M'ho is come to years of under-
ftandiniT, and who has exercifed his faculties in
judaing of right and wrong, fees their truth as he
fees day-light. Metaphyfical arguments brought
againft them have the fame effect as when brought
againft the evidence of fenfe ; they may puzzle and
confound, but they do not convince. It appears
evident, therefore, that thofe adions only can truly
be called virtuous, or deferving of moral approba-
tion, v»hich the agent believed to be right, and to
which he was influenced, more or lefs, by that
belief.

If it faould be olrjetfled. That this principle makc;^
it to be of no confequencc to a man's morals, what
his opinions may be, providing he acts agreeably to
them, the anfv/er is eafy.

Morality requires, not only that a man fhould a<5l
according to his judgment, but that he fhould ufe
the bell means in his pOMer that his judgment be
according to truth. If he fail in either of thcfe
points, he is worthy of blame ; but, if he fail in
neither, I fee not vrherein he can be blamed.

When a man muft acf , and has no longer time to
deliberate, he ought to zit according to the light of
his confcience, even when he is in an error. But,
whenhe has time to deliberate, he ought furely to
iife all the means in his power to be rightly inform-
ed. When lie has done fo, he may ftill be in an
error ; but it is an invincible error, and cannot juftly
be imputed to him as a fault.

A fecond objection is, That we immediately ap-
prove of benevolence, gratitude, and other primary
virtues, without enquiring whether they are prac-
tifed from a perfualion that they are our duty. And
the laws of God place the fum of virtue in loving
God and our neighbour, without any provilion that
,,— ,<.-. :.- JV'jm a perfuafion that we ought to do io.

OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 377

The anlVer to this objci-^tion is, That the h")ve of
Gon, the love of our neighbour, juflice, gratitude,
and other primary virtues, are, by the conftitulion
of human nature, ncceflarily accompanied with a
conviction of their being morally good. We may
therefore fafely prefume, that thelb tilings are never
disjoined, and that every man who praclifes theic
virtues does it with a good confcience. In judging
of mens conduct, we do not fuppofe things which
cannot Iiappen, nor do the huvs of God give de-
cifions upon impoflible cafes, as they mult have
done, if they fuppoied the cafe of a man wlio
thought it contrary to his duty to love God or to
love mankind.

But if we wifii to know how the laws of God de-
terniinc the point in queflion, we ought to obferve
their decilion with regard to fuch actions as m.ay
appear good to one man and ill to another. And
here the decifions of fcripture arc clear : Let every
man be perfuaded in bis czcn mind. He that doi;btcth is
condemned if he eat, becavfe he eateth not cf fdith, for
ivhatfcci'cr is not of faith is fin. To him that cfteemeth
any thing to be unclean, it is unclean. The fcripture
often placeth the fum of virtue \n living in all good
confcience, in acting fo that our hearts condemn us not.

Thelall objecticn I fliall mention is a metaphylical
one urged by Mr. Hum£.

It is a favourite point in his fyftcm of morals,
'J'hat juftice is not a natural but an artificial virtue.
To prove this, he has exerted the whole ftrength of
his reafon and eloquence. And as the principle v. e
are conlidcring flood in his way, he takes pains to
refute it.

" Suppofc, fays he, a pcrfon to have lent me a
" fum of money, on condition that it be rcf:orcd
*' in a few days. After the expiration of the term
" he demands the fum. I afli, what reafon or mo*
" tive have I to reftore tlie n:oncy r It will perhaps
" be faid, 'Ihat my regard to jullice and abhorrence

" of

378 E S S A Y V. Ciup. IV.

*■ of vlllany and knavery are fufTicicnt rcafons for
" me." And this, he acknowledges, would be a
fatisfa6tory anfwer to a man in his civilized ftate,
and when trained up according to a certain difcipline
and education. " But in his rude and more natural
" condition, fays he, if you arc pleafed to call fuch
'• a condition natural, this anfwer would be rejecl-
" ed as perfectly unintelligible and fophiftical.

" For wherein confiils this honefty andjufticc?
" Notfurelyin the external aclion. It muft, there-
" fore, confift in the motive from which the exter-
" nal aclion is derived. This motive can never be
*' a reG:ard to the honcftv of the adion. For it is a
" plain fallacy to fay. That a virtuous motive is rc-
" quifite to render an aclion honefl, and, at the
*" fame time, that a regard to the honefty is the
" motive to the aAion. We can never have a regard
" to the virtue of an aftion, unlefs the action be
" antecedently virtuous."

And, in another place, " To fuppofe that the
*' mere regard to the virtue of the aclion is that
" which rendered it virtuous, is to reafon in a cir-
*' cle. An action muft be virtuous, before we can
" have a re2:ard to its virtue. Some virtuous mo-
" tive, therefore, miuft be antecedent to that regard.
** Nor is this merely a metaphylical fubtilty." ^r.
Treatife cfHum. Nature, book 3. pari 2. feci. i.

I am not to conftder at this time, how this reafon-
ing is applied to fupport the author's opinion, That
iuftice is not a natural but an artificial virtue. I
conftder it only as far as it oppofcs the principle I
have been endeavouring to eftablifh. That to render
an aclion truly virtuous, the agent mull have lome
regard to its rectitude. And I conceive the whole
f(irce of the rcafoninGr am.ounts to this :

When we judge an adion to be good or bad, it
muft have been fo in its own nature antecedent to
that judgment, othcrwifcUie judgment is erroneous.

OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 379

If, tliercforc, the action be good in its nature, the
jiiduj;nicnt of the accent cannot make it bad, nor can
]iis judgnicnt make it p^ood it, in its nature, it be
bad. For this would be to afcribc to our judgment
a llrange magical pu\\'cr to transform the nature of
things, and to fay, that my judging a thing to be
vhat it is not, makes it really to be what I errone-
oufly judge it to be. This, I think, is the objc6ion
in its full ftrength. And, in anfwcr to it,

Firji, If we could not ioofe this metaphyfical knot,
I think we might fairly and honeftly cut it, becaufe
it iixcs an abfurdity upon the clcareil and moft in-
difputable principles of morals and of common
lenie. For I apptfal to any man whether there be
any principle of morality, or any principle of com-
mon fenfe, more clear and indilpu table than that
Avhich we juft now quoted from the Apoille Paul,
'I'hat although a thing be not unclean in itfelf, yet
to him that eileenictli it to be unclean, to him it is
unclean. But the metaphyfical argument makes this
ablard. For, fays the metaphyiici.in. If tlie thing
was not unclean in itfelf, vou iudpcd wronf in c\-
teemmg it to be unclean ; and v/hat can be more
abfurd, than that your elleemiug a thing to be what
it is not, fliould make it what you crroncouUy efteem
i[ to be ?

Let us try the edge of tliis argument in another
iiiftance. Nothing is more evident, that that an
aclion does not merit the name of benevolent, unlcfs
it be done from a belief that it tends to promote the
good of our neighbour. But tiiis is abfurd, fays
the HK'taphyfician. For, if it be not a bcncvoieijt
action in ilfelf, your belief of its tendency c inn(;t
change its nature. It is abfurd, that your eirone-
ous belief Ihould make the accicjii to be what you
believe it to he. Nothing is more evident, tiiari
that a man v.ho teiis the truth, believing it be a lie,
is guilty of falfehood ; but the mctaphyiician v>'oi-id
nuke this to be ibfurd.

38o E S S A Y V. Chap. IV,

In a word, if there be any flrength in ibis argu-
ment, it would follow. That a man might be, in the
Jiighcft degree, virtuous, without the leaft reg;ird
to virtue ; that he might be very benevolent, with-
out ever intending to do a good office ; very malici-
ous, without ever intending any hurt ; very revenge-
ful, without ever intending to retaliate an injury ;
very grateful, without ever intending to return a
benelit ; and a man of ftrici: veracity, with an inten-
tion to lie. We might,' therefore, reject this rea-
foning, as repugnant to felf-evident truths, though
we were not able to point out the fallacy of it.

2. But let us try, in the fecond place, whether
the fallacy of this argument may not be difcovered.

We afcribe mxoral goodnefs to aftions confidered
abftraclly, Mathout any relation to the agent. We
likewife afcribe moral goodnefs to an agent on ac-
count of an action he has done ; we call it a good
action, though, in this cafe, the goodnefs is properly
in the man, and is only by a figure afcribed to the
adion. Now, it is to be confidered, whether moral
goodnefs, when applied to an action confidered ab-
ftraclly, has the fame meaning as when we apply it
to a man on account of that action ; or whether v/e
do not unawares change the meaning of the word,
according as we apply it to the one or to the
other.

The action, confidered abftractly, has neither un-
derftanding nor will ; it is not accountable, nor can
it be under any moral obligation. But all thefe things
are eiTential to that mioral goodnefs which belongs
to a man ; for, if a man had not underxlanding and
will, he could have no moral goodnefs. Hence it
follows neceffarily, that the moral goodnefs which
we afcribe to an action conlidered abftraclly, and
that which we afcribe to a pcrfon for doing that
adtion, are not the fame. The raeaiiing of the
word is changed v.'Iicn it is applied to thcfe diiTercnt
fubjects.

This

OBJECT OF ]MORAL APPROBATION. 381

Tliis will be more evident, when wc conHder what
is meant by the moral goodnefs which we afcribe to
a man for doing an action, and wliat by the j^ood-
nefs M'hicli belongs to the action confidered abltract-
ly. A good a(^tion in a man is that in Avhich he ap-
plied his intellectual powers properly, in order to
judge what he ought to do, and acled according to
his bcft judgment. This is all that can be required
of a moral agent ; and in this his moral goodnef:;,
in any good adion, confifts. But is tJiis the good-
nefs which we aicribe to an aclion confidered ab-
Itra^lly ? No, furely. For the action, confidered
abftractly, is neither endowed with judgment nor
with a^tive'power ; and, therefore, can have none
of that goodncfs v hich we afcribe to the man for
doinir it.

But what do we mean by goodnefs in an aclion
confidered abftraclly ? To me it appears to lie in this,
and in this only, That it is an aclion which ought
to be done by thofc who have the power and oppor-
tunity, and the capacity of perceiving their obliga-
tion to do it. I would gladly know of any man,
v/hat other moral goodnel's can be in an action con-
fidered abilraclly. And this goodnefs is inherent
in its nature, and infeparable from it. No opinion
or judgment of an agent can in the Icaft alter its
nature.

Suppofe the action to be that of relieving an in-
nocent pcrfon out of great diftrefs. This furely has
all the moral goodnefs that an aclion confidered ab-
fnv.cT.y can have. Yet it is evident, that an agent,
in relieving a perfim in diftrefs, may have no moral
goodnefs, may have great merit, or may have great
demerit.

.Suppofe, /f;;/?, That mice cut the cords which
bound the diftrefled perfon, and fo bring him relief.
I> ti'crj moral goodnefs in this act of the mice?

iSupjiofe, fccondlj^ Tliat a man malicioufly relieves
the diltrelled perfon, in order to plunge him into

greater

382 ' E S S A Y V. CiiAP.n^

greater clinrefs. In this aclion, there Is furely no
iTioral goodnefs, but much malice and inhumanity.

If, in the hjl- place, we fuppofe a perfon, from
real fympathy and humanity, to bring relief to the
diilrcired perlon, with confiderable expence or dan-
ger to himfelf ; licre is an action of real worth,
which every heart approves and every tongue praifes.
But wherein lies the worth ? Not in the action con-
iidered by itfelf, v/hich v/as common to all ihe three,
but in the man who, on this occafion, acted the
part which became a good man. He did what his
heart approved, and therefore he is approved by God
and m.an.

Upon the whole, if we diftinguiili oetween tliat
goodnefs which may be afcribed to an action confi-
dcred by itfelf, and that goodnefs v%^hich wc afcribe
to a man when he puts it in execution, we Ihall hnd
a key to this metapliyfical lock. We admit, that
the fToodnefs of an adion, confidered abftra<^tlv, can
have no dependence upon the opinion or belief of
an accent, any more than the truth of a prouofition
depends upon our believing it to be true. But, when
a man exerts his active power well or ill, there is a
moral goodnefs or turpitude which we figuratively
impute to the adion, but which is truly and properly
imputable to the man only ; and this goodnefs or
turpitude depends very m.uch upon the intention of
the agent, and the opinion he had of his action.

'J'his dillindion has been underftood in all ages by
ihofc who gave any attention to morals, though it
has been varioufly expreiled. 'j'hc Greek moralifts
gave the name of x«5;K«vto an action good in itfelf;
fuch an aclion mig^ht be done bv the moft worthlefs.
But an action done with a right intention, which
implies real worth in the agent, they called Kctr-^b-u^ct.
The dilHnclion is explained by Cicero in his Offices.
He calls the firft ofjiciujn jucdiiim^ and the fecond
vfjicrum pcrfcclurji, or return. In the fcholaftic ages,
an adion good in itfelf was faid to be makriaUy good,

and

OBJECT OF MORAL AFPROBATICN. 383

and an acllon done with a right intention was called
formally good. This laft way of exprefiing the dif-
tinclion is ftill familiar among Theologians ; but Mr.
Hume feems not to have attended to it, or to have
thought it to be words without any mcanii-ig.

Mr. HuMH, in the fetftion already quoted, tells us
with great alTurance, " In fhort, it may be eftablifh-
" edas an undoubted maxim, that no action can be
" virtuous or morally good, unlcfs there be in hu-
" man nature fome motive to produce it, diilincl
*' from the icnfe of its morality." And upon thi-;
maxiin he founds many of his reafonings on the fub-
]Q.S. of morals.

Whether it be confiftent with Mr. IIumf.*s own
fyftem, that an action maybe produced merely from
the fenfe of its morality, without any motive of
agreeablenefs or utility, I fliall not now enquire.
But, if it be true, and I think it evident to every
man of common undcrftanding, that a judge or an
arbiter acts the m.ofl virtuous part when his fcntence
is produced by no other motive but a regard to juf-
tice and a good confcience ; nay, when all other
motives diltincl from this are on the other fide ; If
this I fay be true, then that undoubted maxim of Mr.
HuMK muft be falfe, and all the conclufions built
upon it muft fall to the ground.

From the principle 1 have endeavoured to efta-
blill'i, 1 tliink fome confequcnces may be drawn Vv-ith
regard to the theory of morals.

FirJ}^ If there be no virtue without the belief that
what we do is rii^ht. it follows. That a moral faculty,
that is, a power of difcerning moral goodncfs and
turpitude in human condudl, is cflential to every
being capable of virtue or vice. A being who has
no more conception of moral goodnefs and bafenefs,
of right and wrong, than a blind man hath of colours,
can have no regard to it in his conducT, and there-
fore can neither be virtuous nor vicious.

lie

384 E S S A Y V. Chap. IV.

He may liave qualities that are agreeable or difa-
greeable, ufcful or hurtful ; fo may a plant or a ma-
chine. And we Ibmetiir.cs ufc tlie word 'virtue in
fuch a latitude as to lignify any agreeable or ufeful
quality, as when we fpeak of the virtues of plants.
But we are now fpeakino; of virtue in the ftricl and
proper fenfc, as it fignilies that quality in a man
which is the object of moral approbation.

This virtue a man could not have, if he had not a
power of dilcerning a right and a wroug in human
conducl, aiid of being influenced by that difcern-
ment. For in fo far only he is virtuous as he is
guided in his conduct by that part of his conftituti-
on. Brutes do not appear to have any fuch power,
and therefore are not moral or accountable agents.
They are capable of culture and difciplinc, but not
of virtuous or criminal conduct. Even human crea-
tures, in infancy and non-age, are not moral agents,
becaufe their moral faculty is not yet unfolded.
Thefe fcntiments are fupported by the common fenfc
of mankind, which has always determined, that
neither brutes nor infants can be indicted for
crimes.

It is of fmall confequencc what name we give to
this moral power of the human mind ; but it is fo
important a part of our conftitution, as to deferve
an appropriated name. TIic name of confcience, as
it is the mod common, fcems to me as proper as any
that has been given it. I find no fault wltli the name
moral fcnft\ although I conccis-c this name has given
occafion to fome miftakcs concerning the nature of
our moral power. Modern Plnlofophcrs have con-
ceived of the external fenfes as having no other ofiice
but to give us certain fcnfations, or iimple concep-
tions, which v/e could not have without them. And
this notion has been applied to the moral fcnfe. But
it fecms to mc a miftaken notion in both. By the
fcnfe of feeing, I not only have the conception of
the diilcrenL colours, but I perceive one body to be

OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 385

of this colour, another of that. In like manner,
by my moral fcnfe, I not only have the conceptions
of ri^ht and wronj^ in conduct, but I perceive this
conduct to be rii^ht, that to be wrong, and that in-
dirtcrcnt. All our fcnfcs are judging faculties, fo
alio is confcience. Nor is this power only a judge
of our own actions and thofe of others, it is likewife
a principle of adtion in all good men ; and fo far
only can our conduct be denominated virtuous, as it
is influenced by this principle.

Af<xonJ confcqucnce from the principle laid down
in this chapter is, That the formal nature and eflence
of that virtue which is the object of m.oral approba-
tion confiils neither in a prudent profecution of our
private intereft, nor in benevolent affedions towards
others, nor in qualities ufeful or agreeable to our-
fclves or to others, nor in fympathizing with the
paflions and affections of others, and in attuning
our own conduct to the tone of other mens paflions ;
but it confifts in living in all good confcience, that
is, in ufing the beft means in our power to know
our duty, and ading accordingly.

Prudence is a virtue, benevolence is a virtue, for-
titude is a virtue ; but the effence and formal nature
of virtue mufl lie in fomething that is common to
all tlicfc, and to every other virtue. And this I con-
ceive can be nothing elfe but the rectitude of fuch
conduct and turpitude of the contrary, which is
difccrned by a good man. And fo far only he is
virtuous as he purfues the former and avoids the
latter.

B b CHAP.

386 ESSAY V. Chap. V.

CHAP. V.

Whether yiijlicc be a Natural or an Artifcial Virtue,

rlV R. Hume's philofophy concerninj^ morals was
firft prefented to the world in the third volume of
his 'Treat if e of Human Nature, in the year 1 74C) ; af-
tervvards in his Enquiry concerning the Principles of
Morals, which \^-as firft publiihed by itlelf, and then
in feveral editions of his EJfays and Treatifes.

In thefe two works on morals the fyftem is the
fame. A more popiilar arrangement, great embel-
lifhment, and the omiflion of fome metaphyfical rea-
ibnings, have given a preference in the public efteem
to the laft ; but I find neither any new principles
in it, nor any new arguments in fupport of the fyf-
tem common to both.

In this fyftem, the proper objed of moral appro-
1/ation is, not adtions or any voluntary exertion,
but qualities of mind ; that is, natural afteclions or
paflions, which are involuntary, a part of the con-
■ftitution of the man, and common to us with many
brute-animals. When we praife or blame any vo-
luntary aclion, it is only confidered as a fign of the
r.atural aftc6lion from which it flows, and from which
all its merit or demerit is derived.

Moral approbation or difapprobation is not an acl
of the judgment, which, like all acls of judgment,
muft be true or faife, it is only a certain feeling,
which, from the conftitution of human nature, arifcs
upon contemplating certain characters or qualities
of mind coolly and impartially.

This feeling, when agreeable, is moral approba-
tion ; v.'hcn difigrceable, difipprobation. The qua-
lities of mind which produce this agreeable feeling

are

OF JUSTICE. 387

nrc the moriil virtues, and ihofc that produce the
difagrecable, the vices.

Thefe preliminaries being granted, the quePtion
about the foundation of morals is reduced to a fim-
ple queftion of facl, to wit. What arc the qualities
of mind which produce, in the difinterelled obferv-
er, the feeling of approbation, or the contrary
feelins: ?

In anfwer to this queftion, the author endeavours
to prove, by a very copious induction. That all per-
fonal merit, all virtue, all that is the objecT: of moral
approbation, confifts in the qualities of inind which
are agreeable or nfeful to the perfon Vv'hopoflbfles them,
or to others.

The dulec and the utile is the whole fum of merit
in every character, in every quality of mind, and
in every action of life. There is no room left for
that honejium which Cicero thus defines, Honejlum
igitur id intelUgimus, quod talc ejl, ut dcirada omni iiti-
litatc^ fine ullis premiis frudibufve^pcr fe ipfum p off it jure
laudari.

Among the ancient moralifts, the Epicureans were
the only fe<5t who denied that there is any fuch thing
as hone/rum, or moral worth, dillin^t from pleafure.
In this Mr. Hume's fyftem agrees with theirs. For
the addition of utility to pleafure, as a foundation
of morals, makes only a verbal, but no real difl'e-
rence. What is ufeful only has no value in itfelf,
but derives all its merit from the end for which it is
ui'eful. That end, in this fyftem, is agreeablenefs
or pleafure. So that, in both fyftems, pleafure is
the only end, the only thing that is good in itfelf,
and delirable for its own fake ; and virtue derives
all its merit from its tendency to produce pleafure.

Agreeablenefs and utility are not moral concepti-
ons, nor have they any connection with morality.
AVhat a man docs, merely becaufe it is agreeable, or
ufctul to procure what is agreeable, is not virtue.
Therefore the Kpicurcan fyftem was juftly thought

B b 2 'by

388 ESSAY V. Chap. V.

by Cicero, and the beft moralifts among the anci-
ents to fubvert morality, and to iubllitute another
principle in its room ; and this fyllcm is liable to the
fame ccnfurc.

In one thing, however, it differs rem.arkably from
that of Epicurus. It allows, that there are difin-
tcrcfted aflcclions in human nature ; that the love of
children and relations, friendfhip, gratitude, com-
paflion and humanity, are not, as Epicurus main-
tained, different modifications of felf-love, but fim-
ple and original parts of the human conftitution ;
that when intcreft, or envy, or revenge, perv^ert
not our difpofition, we are inclined, from natural
philanthropy, to defire, and to be pleafed with the
liappinefs of the human kind.

All this, in opp'oiition to the Epicurean fyflem,
Mr. Hume maintains with grreat ff:rena:th of rcafon
and eloquence, and, in this refpecl, his fyftem is
more liberal and difinterefted than that of the Greek
Philofopher. According to Epicurus, virtue is
whatever is agreeable to ourfelves. According to
Mr. EIuME, every quality of mind that is agreeable
or ufeful to ourfelves or to others.

This theory of the nature of virtue, it mufi: be
acknowledged, enlarges greatly the catalogue of mo-
ral virtues, by bringing into that catalogue every
quality of mind that is ufeful or agreeable. Nor
does there appear any good rcafon wliy the ufeful
and agreeable qualities of body and of fortune, as
well as thofe of the mind, fhould not have a place
among moral virtues in this fyftem. They have the
cffence of virtue ; that is, agrceablenefs and utility,
why then fliould tliey not ha^ e the name ?

But, to compenfate this addition to the moral
virtues, one clafs of them feems to be ^reatlv de-
graded and deprived of all intrinfic merit. The
ufeful virtues, as was above obferved, are only mi-
niftering fervants of the agreeable, and purveyors
for them ; they muft, therefore, be fo far inferior
in dignity, as hardly to deferve the lame name.

Mr.

O F J U S T I C E. 389

Mr. HuMi-., however, gives the name of virtue to
both ; and to diflinguifli them, calls the agreeable
qualities natural virtues, and the ufeful artificial.

The natural virtues are thofe natural affections of
the human coniiitution which give immediate plea-
fure in their exercife. Such are all the benevolent af-
fections. Nature difpofes to them, and from their
t)\vn nature they are agreeable, both when we exer-
cife them ourfelves, and when we contemplate their
exercife in others.

The artificial virtues are fuch as are efteemed
folely on account of their utility, either to promote
the good of fociety, as juftice, fidelity, honour, ve-
racity, allegiance, chaltity ; or on account of their
utility to the profefTor, as induftry, difcretion, fru-
g;ility, fecrecy, order, perfeverance, forethought,
judgment, and others, of which, he fays, many
pages could not contain the catalogue.

This general view of Mr. Hume's fyftem concern-
ing the foundation of morals, feerned neceffary, in
order to underftand diftinctly the meaning of that
principle of his, which is to be the fubjecl of this
chapter, and on which he has beftowed much labour,
to wit, that juftice is not a natural but an artificial
virtue.

This fyftem of the foundation of virtue is fo con-
tradi(5lory in many of its effential points to the ac-
count we have before given of the active powers of
human nature, that, if the one be true, the other
muftbe falfe.

If God has given to man a power which we call
confcicncc, the moral faculty, the fcrtfc of duty, by wh.ich,
wlicn he comes to years of undcrllanding, he per-
ceives certain things that depend on his vvill to be
his duty, and other things to be bafe and unworthy j
if the notion of duty be a fimple conception, of its
own kind, and of a different nature from the con-
ceptions of utility and agreeablenefs, of intcrcft or
reputation ; if this moral faculty be the prerogative

390

ESSAY V. Ch^p. V,

of man, and no veiligc of it be found in brute-ani-
mals ; if it be given us by God to regulate all our
animal affections andpaffions ; if to be governed by
it be the glory of man and the image of God in his
foul, and to difregard its dictates be his diflionour
and depravity : I fay, if thefe things be fo, to feek
the foundation of morality in the affcdions which
we have in common with the brutes, is to feek the
living among the dead, and to change the glory of
man, and the image of God in his foul, into the
fimilitude of an ox that eateth grafs.

If virtue and vice be a matter of choice, they muft
confiii in voluntary adions, or in fixed purpofes of
acting according to a certain rule when there is op-
portunity, and not in qualities of mind which are
involuntary.

It is true, that every virtue is both agreeable and
ufeful in the higheft degree ; and that every quality
that is agreeable or ufeful, has a merit upon that
account. But virtue has a merit peculiar to itfelf,
a merit which does not arife from its being ufeful or
agreeable, but from its being virtue. This merit is
difcerned by the fame faculty by which we difcern it
to be virtue, and by no other.

We give the name of ejleem both to the regard
we have for things ufeful and agreeable, and to the
regard we have for virtue; but thefe are different
kinds of efteem. I efteem a man for his ingenuity
and learning. I efteem him for his moral worth.
The found of cJlccm in both thcfc fpccches is the fame,
but its meaning is very different.

Good breeding is a very amiable quality ; and even
if I knew that the man had no motive to it but its
pleafure and utility to himfelf and others, I fliould
like it ftiil, but I would not in that cafe call it a mo-
ral virtue.

A dog has a tender concern for her puppies ; fo
has a man for his children. The natural atfec^tion is
the fame in both, and is amiable in both. But why

O F J U S T I C E. 391

<lo we impute moral virtue to the man on account
ot this concern, and not to the dog ? The reafon
lurely is, That, in tlie man, the natural atfe lion is
accompanied with a lenle ot duty, but, in the dog,
it is not. The fame thing may be laid of all the kind
affeclions common to us with the brutes. They are
amiable qualities, but they are not moral virtues.

What has been faid relates to Mr. Hume's fyllem
in general. We are now to conlidcr his notion of
the i)articular virtue of jufticc, that its merit confills
wholly in its utility to fociety.

That juftice is highly ufeful and ncceffary in focie-
ty, and, on that account, ought to be loved and
€ileemed by all that love mankind, will readily be
granted. And as juftice is a focial virtue, it is true
alfo, that there could be no exercife of it, and per-
haps we ihould have no conception of it, without
ibciety. But this is equally true of the natural affec-
tions of benevolence, gratitude, friendfhip and com-
panion, which Mr. Hume makes to be the natural
virtues.

It may be granted to Mr. Hume, that men have
no conception of the virtue of juftice till they have
lived fome time in fociety. It is purely a moral
conception, and our moral conceptions and moral
judgments are not born v. ith us. They grow up by
degrees, as our reafon does. Nor do 1 pretend to
know how early, or in what order we acquire the
conception of the fev^ral virtues. The conception
ot juitice fuppofes fome exercife of the moral facul-
ty, which, being the nobleft part of the human con-
ftitution, and tliat to which all its other parts are
ful)fervicnt, appears lateft.

It may likcwife be granted, that there is no ani-
mal allection in human nature that prompts us im-
mediately to acts of juitice, as fuch. We have na-
tural alfoiHit)ns of the animal kind, which immedi-
ately prompt us to a^^ts of kindnefs ; but none, that
I kiHjw, i\\.\t ha-; the lame rcl uion to juftice. The

verv

392 ESSAY V. Chap. V.

very conception of juftice fuppofes a moral faculty ;
hut our natural kind affeftions do not ; otherwife
wc mud allow that brutes have this faculty.

What I maintain is, jirj}^ That when men come to
the exercife of their moral faculty, they perceive a
turpitude in injuftice, as they do in other crimes,
and confequently an obligation to juftice, abft rack-
ing from the confideration of its utility. And,
fecondly. That as foon as men have any rational con-
ception of a favour, and of an injury, they muft
have the conception of juftice, and perceive its obli-
gation diftin6i from its utility.

The firft of thefe points hardly admits of any
other proof, but an appeal to the fentiments of eve-
ry honeft man, and every man of honour. Whe-
ther his indignation is not immediately inflamed
againft an atrocious act of villany, without the cool
confideration of its diftant confequences upon the
good of fociety ?

We might appeal even to robbers and pirates.
Whether they have not had great ftruggles with
their confcience, when they firft rcfolved to break
through all the rules of juftice ? And whether, in a
folitary and ferious hour, they have not frequently
felt the pangs of guilt ? They have very often con-
felfed this at a time when all difguife is laid afide.

The common good of fociety, though a pleafing
object to all men, when prefented to their view,
hardly ever enters into the thoughts of the £ir great-
eft part of mankind ; and, if a regard to it were the
fole motive to juftice, the number of honeft men
muft >e fmall indeed. It would be confined to the
higher ranks, who, by their education, or by their
office, are led to make the public good an objcd ;
but that it is fo confined, I believe no man will ven-
ture to affirm.

The temptations to injuftice are ftrongeft in the
loweft clafs of men ; and if nature had provided no

motive

O F J U S T I C E. 393

motive to oppofe thofe temptations, but a fenfe of
public good, there would not be found an honcil:
man in tli.it clafs.

To all men that arc not greatly corrupted, injuf-
tice, as well as cruelty and ingratitude, is an object
of difapprobation on its own account. There is a
voice within us that proclaims it to be bafe, un-
worthy, anil deferx ing of puniflimcnt,

'Jhat there is, in all ingenuous natures, an anti-
pathy to roguery and treachery, a reluctance to the
thoughts of villany and bafcnefs, w^e have the tefti-
mony of Mr. Hume himfelf ; who, as I doubt not
but he felt it, has exprelled it very ftrongly in the
conclufion to his enquiry, and acknowledged that,
in fome cafes, without this reluctance and antipathy
to difhonefty, a fenfiWe knave w^ould find no fufti-
cicnt motive from public good to be honeft.

I fhall give the paffage at large from the Enquiry
concerning the Principles of Morals, fe6tion 9. near
the end.

" Treating vice with the greateft candour, and
" making it all poflible conceffions, we muft ac-
" knowledge that there is not in any inftance, the
" fmalleft pretext for giving it the preference above
*' virtue, with a view to felf-interell ; except, per-
" haps, in the cafe of julHce, where a man, taking
" things in a certain light, may often feem to be a
*' lofer by his integrity. And though it is allowed
" that, without a regard to property, no focicty
" could fubfift ; yet, according to the imperfecl way
" in which human alfairs are conducted, a fenfiblc
*' knave, in particular incidents, may think, that
'* an a6l of iniquity or infidelity will make a confi-
" dcrable addition to his fortune, without caufing
" any confiderable breach in the focial union and
" confederacy. That honcjly is the bcjl policv^ may be
" a good general rule, but it is liable to many ex-
*' ccptions : And he, it may perhaps bethought,

" conducts

394- E S S A Y V. Chap. V.

" conduces hinifclf with moft wifclom, who obfcrves
" the general rule, and takes advantage of all the
" exceptions.

" I muft confefs that, if a man think that this
" rcafoning requires an anfwer, it will be a little
" diflicult to find any, which will to him appear fa-
" tisfactory and convincing. If his heart rebel not
" againft fuch pernicious maxims, if he feel no re-
" lucbmce to the thoughts of villany and bai'enefs,
" he has indeed loll a conliderablc motive to virtue,
" and we may exped that his practice will be an-
" fwerablc to his fpeculation. But in all ingenuous
" natures, the antipathy to treachery and roguery
*' is too ftrong to be counterbalanced by any views
" of profit or pecuniary advantage. Inward peace
*' of mind, confcioufnefs of integrity, a fatisfadory
" review of our own conduct ; theib are circum-
*' ftances very requifite to happinefs, and will be
*' cheriflied and cultivated by every honeft man who
" feels the importance of them."

The rcafoning of the fcnfihle knave in this paflage,
fecms to me to be juftly founded upon the principles
of the Enquiry and of the Treatife of Human Na-
ture, and therefore it is no w^onder, that the Au-
thor Ihould find it a little ditlicult to give any an-
fwer which would appear fiitisfadlory and convincing
to fuch a man. To counterbalance this rcafoning,
he puts in the other fcale a rclu(5lance, an antipathy,
a rebellion of the heart againft fuch pernicious max-
ims, which is felt by ingenuous natures.

Let us confider a little the force of Mr. Hume's
anfwer to this fenfible knave, who reafons upon his
own principles. I think it is either an acknowledg-
ment, that there is a natural judgment of confci-
cnce in man, which is the point I would eftablifli ; or
it has no force to convince either the knave or an
honeft man.

A clear and intuitive judgment, refulting from
the couUitution of human nature, is fullicient to

overbalance

OF J U S r I C E. 395

overbalance a train of fubtile reafoning on the other
lide. Thus, the tcftimony of our fenfcs is fuflicicnt
to overbalance all the fubtile arguments brought
againll their teflimony. And, if there be a like
teilimony of confcience in fivour of honefty, all
the fubtile rcalbning of the knave againlf it ought to
be rejected without examination, as fallacious and
fophiftical, becaufe it concludes againft a felf-evident
principle ; juil as we rejcci: the fubtile reafoning of
the metaphylician againft the evidence of fenfe.

If, therefore, the relu^ance^ the aniipathy^ the re-
bcllion of the heart againft injuftice, which Mr. Hume
fets againft the reafoning of the knave, include in
their meaning a natural intuitive judgment of con-
fcience, that injuftice is bafe and unworthy, the rea-
foning of the knave is convincingly anfwered ; but
the principle. That jujiice is an artificial virtue^ ap-
proved folcly for its utility, is given up.

If, on the other hand, the antipathy, reluctance
and rebellion of heart, imply no judgment, but
barely an uneafy feeling, and that not natural, but
acquired and artificial, the anfwer is indeed veiy
agreeable to the principles of the Enquiry, but has no
force to convince the knave, or any other man.

'1 he knave is here fuppofed by Mr. Hume to have
no fuch feelings, and therefore the anfwer does not
touch his cafe in the leaft, but leaves him in the full
pofleftion of his reafoning. i\nd ingenuous natures,
\\\\o have thefe feelings, are left to deliberate whe-
ther they will yield to acquired and artificial feelings,
in oppolition to rules of conducT:, which, to their
beft judgment, appear wife and prudent.

The fecond thing I propoled to Ihew was, That,
as foon as men have any rational conception of a
favour and of an injury, they muft have the rati-
onal conception of juftice, and perceive its obliga-
tion.

The power with which the Author of nature liath
endowed us, may be employed cither to do good to

our

39'> ESSAY V. Chap. V.

our fellow- men, or to hurt them. When w^c em-
ploy our power to promote the good and happinefs
of otiiers, this is a benefit or favour ; when wc em-
ploy it to hurt them, it is an injury. Juftice fills
up the middle between thefe two. It is fuch a con-
duct as does no injury to others ; but it docs not
imply the doing them any favour.

The notions of a favour and of an injury, appear
as early in the mind of man as any rational notion
whatever. They are difcovercd, not by language
only, but by certain affections of mind, of which
they are the natural objects. A favour naturally
produces gratitude. An injury done to ourfelves
produces refentment ; and even when done to an-
other, it produces indignation.

I take it for granted that gratitude and refent-
ment are no lefs natural to the human mind than
hunger and thirfl ; and that thofe afieclions are no
lefs naturally rxcited by their proper objects and oc-
cafions than thefe appetites.

It is no lefs evident, that the proper and formal
object of gratitude is a perfon who has done us a
favour ; that of refentment, a perfon who has done
us an injury.

Before the ufe of reafon, the diflinction between
a favour and an agreeable office is not perccivct!.
Every action of another perfon Vv-hich gives prcfcii:
pleafure produces love and good will towards the
agent. Every a6tion that gives pain or uneafmefs
produces refentment. This is common to man be-
fore the ufe of reafon, and to the more fagacious
brutes ; and it fliews no conception of julllce in
cither.

But, as we grow up to the ufe of reafon, the no-
tion, both of a favour and of an injury, grows
more diftinct and better defined. It is not enough
that a good office be done ; it muft be done from
good V. ill, and with a good intention, otherwifc it
is no favour, nor docs it produce gratitude.

I have

O F J U S T I C E. 397

I hive heard of :i phyfician wlio gave fpiders in a
medicine to a dropfical patient, with an intention to
poifon him, and that this medicine cured the pati-
ent, contrary to the intention of the phyfician.
Surely no gratitude, but refentmcnt, was due by
the patient, when he knew the real ftate of tlie cafe.
It is evident to every man, that a benefit arifing
from the aclion of another, either without or againft
liis intention, is not a motive to gratitude ; that is,
is no favour.

Another thing implied in the nature of a favour
is, that it be not due. A man may fave my credit
by paying what he owes me. In this cafe, what he
does tends to my benefit, and perhaps is done with
that intention ; but it is not a favour, it is no more
than he was bound to do.

If a ferv^ant do his work and receive his wao^es,
there is no favour done on either part, nor any ob-
ject of gratitude ; becaufe, though each party has
benefited the other, yet neither has done more than
he was bound to do.

What I infer from this is, That the conception of
a favour in every man come to years of undcrltand-
ing, implies the conception of things not due, and
conlequently the conception of things that are due.

A negative cannot be conceived by one who has
no conception of the corrcfpondent pofitive. Not
to be due is the negative of being due ; and he who
conceives one of them muft conceive both. The
conception of things due and not due mufi; therefore
])e found in every mind which has any rational con-
ception of a favour, or any rational fentiment of gra-
titude.

If we confider, on the other hand, what an inju-
ry is which is tlie object of jhe natural palTion of
rcfeiUment, every man, capable of reflection, per-
ceives, that an injury implie^: more than being hurt.
If I be hurt by a ftone falling out of the wall, or
by a llaili of lightning, or by a convulfivc and invo-
luntary

398 ESS A Y V. Chap. V.

luntary motion of another man's arm, no injury is
done, no rcfentmcnt raifcd in a man that has rea-
fon. In this, as in all moral aclions, there muft be
the will and intention of the agent to do the hurt.
Nor is this fuflicicnt to confritute an injury. The
man who breaks my fences, or treads down my corn,
when he cannot otherwife preferve himfelf from dc-
ftruclion, who has no injurious intention, and is
willing to indemnify me for the hurt which necef-
iity, and not ill will, led him to do, is not injurious,
nor is an object of refentment.

The executioner who does his duty, in cutting off
the head of a condemned crimiinal, is not an object
of refentment. He does nothing unjuft, and there-
fore nothing injurious.

From this it is evident, that an injury, the objeft
of the natural paiTion of refentment, implies in it
the notion of injuftice. Audit is no lefs evident,
that no man can have a notion of injuftice without
having the notion of juftice.

To fum up what has been faid upon this point :
A f-ivour, an act of juitice and an injury, are fo re-
lated to one another that he who conceives one muft
conceive the other two. They lie, as it were, in one
line, and refemble the relations of greater, lefs and
equal. If one underftanJs what is meant by one
line being greater or lefs than another, he can be at
no lofs to undcrftand what is meant by its being
equal to the other ; for, if it be neither greater nor
lefs, it muft be equal.

In like manner, of thofe aclions by which we
profit or hurt other men, a favour is more than juf-
tice, an injury is lefs; and that which is neither a
favour nor an injury is a juft action.

As foon, therefore, as men come to have any pro-
per notion of a favour and of an injury ; as foon as
they have any rational exercife of gratitude and of
refentment ; fo foon they muft have the conception

of juftice

O F J U S T I C E. 399

of judicc and of injufticc ; and if gratitude and re-
fentment be natural to man, which Mr. Hume allows,
the notion of juUicc inuft he no lefs natural.

The notion of juftice carries infcparably along with
it, a perception of its moral obligation. For to fay
tliat iiich an aclion is an atft of juliicc, that it is due,
that it ought to be done, that we are under a moral
obligation to do it, are only difi'erent ways of cx-
})reiring the fame thing. It is true, that we perceive
ju) high degree of moral worth in a merely juft ac-
tion, when it is not oppofed by intereft or pafllon ;
but we perceive a high degree of turpitude and de-
merit in unjuft actions, or in the omiffion of what
juftice requires.

Indeed, if there was no other argument to prove,
that the obligation of juftice is not folely derived
from its utiHty to procure what is agreeable either
to ourfclves or to fociety, this would be fuflicient.
That the very conception of juftice implies its obli-
gation. The morality of juftice is included in the
very idea of it : Nor is it poflible that the concep-
ti(m of juftice can enter into the human mind, with-
out carrying along with it the conception of dutv
and moral obligation. Its obligation, therefore, is
iiifeparable from its nature, and is not derived folely
trom its utility, cither to ourfelves or to fociety.

We may farther obl'crve. That as in all moral ef-
tlniation, every aciion takes its denomination from
the motive tiiat produces it ; fo no action can pro-
perly be denominated an aft of juftice, unlefs it be
tlonc from a regard to juftice.

If a man pays Ids debt, only that he may not be caft
into prifon, he is not a juft man, becauie prudence,
and not juftice, is his motive. And if a man, from
benevolence and charity, gives to another what i>.
really due to him, but what he believes not to 1-e
liis due, this is not an aft of juftice in him, but of
charity or benevolence, becaufe it is not done from
a motive of juftice. Thcfe arc lelf-evident truths ;

nor

400 ESSAY V. Chap. V.

nor is it lefs evident, that what a man does, merely
to procure fomething agreeable, either to himfelf or
to others, is not an act of juftice, nor has the me-
rit of juftice.

Good mufic and good cookery have the merit of
utility, in procuring what is agreeable both to our-
felves and to fociety, but they never obtained among
mankind the denomination of moral virtues. In-
deed if this author's fyftem be well founded, great
injuftice has been done thcni on that account.

I fliall now make fome obfervations upon the rea-
foning of this author, in proof of his favourite prin-
ciple, That juftice is not a natural but an artificial
virtue ; or, as it is exprefled in the Enquiry, That
public utility is the fole origin of juftice, and that
reflections on the beneficial confequences of this vir-
tue are the fole foundation of its merit.

1. It muft be acknowledged, that this principle
has a necefl'ary connection with his fyftem concerning
the foundation of all virtue ; and therefore it is no
wonder that he hath taken fo much pains to fupport
it ; for the whole fyftem muft ftand or fall with it.

If the duke and the idile^ that is, pleafure, and
what is ufeful to procure pleafure, be the whole me-
rit of virtue, juftice can have no merit beyond its
utility to procure pleafure. If, on the other hand,
an intrinfic worth in juftice and demerit in injuftice
be difcerned by every man that hath a confcience ;
if there be a natural principle in the conftitution of
man, by which juftice is approved and injuftice dif-
approved and condemned, then the whole of this
laboured fyftem muft fall to the ground.

2. We may obfervc, That as juftice is directly
oppofed to injury, and as there arc various ways in
which a man may be injured, fo there muft be vari-
ous branches of juftice oppofed to the different kinds
of injury.

A man may be injured, fir/i, in his perfon, by
wounding, maiming or killing him ; fecondly, in his

fiimily.

OF J U S T r C E. vioi

family, by robbing him oF his children, or anyway
injurini^ thofc he is bound to protoft ; //>/W/y, in
Jiis liberty, by confinement ; fourthly^ in liis repu-
tation ; fifthly^ in his goods or property ; and /<-////)',
in the violation of contracts or cngaj^enuTils made
with him. This enumcraticm, whether complete or
not, is fullicient for the prefent purpofe.

The diti'erent branches of juftice, oppofed to thefc
diflcrent kintls of injury, are commonly exprciTed
by faying, that an innocent man has a right to the
fatcty of his pcrfon and family, a right to his liber-
ty and reputation, a right to his goods, and to fide-
lity to engagements made with him. To fay that
he has a right to thefe things, has precifely the fame
meaning as to fay, that juftice requires that he
iliouid be permitted to enjoy them, or that it is un-
juft to violate them. For injuftice is the violation
of right, and juftice is to yield to every man what
ib his right.

Thefc things being undcrftood as the fimpleft and
moft common ways of expreifmg the various branch-
es of juftice, we are to conlider how far Mr. IIumk's
roafoning proves any or all of them to be artificial,
or grounded folely upon public utility. Tlie laft of
them, fidelity to engagements, is to be the fubjc^l
of the next chapter, and therefore 1 fliall fay nothing
of it in this.

The four firft named, to wit, the right of an in-
nocent man to the faiety of his perfon and family,
to his liberty and reputation, are, by the \Miters on
jurifprudcncc, cs-lled natural rights of man, becaufc
they are grounded in the nature of man as a ration-
al and moral agent, and are by his Creator commit-
ted to his care and keeping. By being called natural
and inriatc^ they are diitinguiflied from acquifcd
rights, which fuppofe feme previous aft or deed of
man by whi.:h tliey are acquired, whereas natural
richts fuppofe notJiing of this kind.

C c When

402 ESSAY V. Chap. V.

"When a man's natural li.c^hts are violated, he
perceives intuitively, and he feels that he is injured.
The feeling of his heart arifes from the judgment of
his underftanding, for if he did not believe that the
hurt was intended, and unjuflly intended, he would
not have that feeling. He perceives that injury is done
to himfelf, and that he has a right to redrefs. The
natural ptinciple of refentment is roufed by the view
of its proper obje<5l, and excites him to defend his
right. Kven the injurious perfon is confcious of his
doing injury ; he dreads a juft retaliation ; and if it
be in the power of the injured perfon, he expects
it as due and deferved.

That thefe fentiments fpring up in the mind of
man as naturally as his body grows to its proper fta-
ture ; that they are not the birth of inftru6\ion, ei-
ther of parents, priefts, philofophers or politicians,
but the pure growth of nature, cannot, I think,
without effrontery, be denied. We find them equal-
ly ftrong in the moft favage and in the moft civiliz-
ed tribes of mankind ; and nothing can weaken them
but an inveterate habit of rapine and bloodfhed,
which benumbs the confcience, and turns men into
wild beafts.

The public good is very properly confidered by
the judge who punifhes a private injury, but fcldom
enters into the thought of the injured perfon. In
all criminal law, the redrefs due to the private fut-
fcrer is diftinguilhed from that which is due to the
public ; a dillindlion which could have no founda-
tion, if the demerit of injuftice arofe folely from its
hurting the public. And every man is confcious of
a fpecific difference between the refentment he feels
for an injury done to himfelf, and his indignation
againft a wrong done to the public.

I think, therefore, it is evident, that of the fix
branches of juftice we mentioned, four are natural,
in the flricfleft fcnfe, being founded upon the conlti-
lulion of man, and antecedent to all deeds and con-
ventions

OF JUS Tl C E. .103

vcntions of fociety ; fo tliiit, if there were but t\\'o
men upvon the c:irth, one miglit be unjult iind injuri-
ous, and the other injured.

But does Mr. II'j.mk m:nntLiin tlic contrnry?

To this queftion I anfwcr. That his doctrine fecms
to imply it, but I hope he meant it not.

llcalilrms in p;eneral that juUice is not a natural
virtue ; that it derives its origin foV^ly from public
utility, and that reRe^flions on the benelicial confe-
quence:) of this virtue are the fole foundation of its
merit. He mentions no particular branch of jufticc
as an exception to this general rule ; yet juftice, in
common language, and in all the writers on jurif-
prudcnce I am acquainted with, comprehends the
four branches above mentioned. His doctrine, there-
fore, according to the common conftruftion of words,
extends to thefe four, as well as to the two other
branches of juilicc.

On the other hand, if we attend to his long and
laboured proof of this doctrine, it appears evi-
dent, that he had in his eye only two particular
branches of juftice. No part of his reafoning applies
to the other four. 1 le fcems, I know not why, to
have taken up a confined notion of julHce, and to
have reftriifled it to a regard to property and fide-
lity in contracts. As to other branches he is filent.
He no where fays, that it is not naturally criminal
to rob an innocent man of his life, of his children,
of his liberty, or of his reputation ; and I am apt
to think he never meant it.

The only Philofopher I know who has had the af-
furance to maintain this, is Mr. Hobbes, who makes
the Itate of nature to be a ftate of war, of every
man againft every man ; and of fuch a war in which
every man has a right to do and to acquire what-
ever his power can, by any means, accomplifh ; that
is, a Itate wherein neither right nor injury, jufticc
nor injuftice, can poflibly cxift.

C c 2 ]\Ir.

404 ESSAY V. Chap.V,

Mr. Hume mentions this fyftcm of Hobbes, but
without adoptinjT it, though he allows it the autho-
rity of Cicero in its favour.

He lays in a note, " This ficlion of a ftate of na-
" ture as a ftate of war was not firft ftarted by Mr.
*' HoBBEs, as is commonly imagined. Plato cn-
'• dcavours to refute an hypothcfis very like it, in
" the 2d, ^d :irA 4thhoQkii, De Republica. Cicero,
" on the contrary, fuppofes it certain and univer-
" fiilly acknowledged, in the following pafTage, ^r.
" Pro Scxtio, /. 42."

The pafHige, which he quotes at large, from one
of Cicero's Orations, feems to me to require fome
ftraining to make it tiilly with tlie fyftem of Mr.
HoBBEs. Be this as it may, Mr. Hume might have
added, That Cicero, in his Orations, like many
other pleaders, fometimcs fays not what he believed,
but what was fit to fupport the caufe of his client.
That Cicero's opinion with regard to the natural
obligation of juftice, was very different from that
of Mr. HoBBES, and even from Mr. Hume's, is very
Avell known.

3. As Mr. Hume, therefore, has faid nothing to
prove the four branches of juftice which relate to the
innate rights of men, to be artificial, or to derive
their origin folely from public utility, I proceed to
the fifth branch, which requires us not to invade
another man's property.

The right of property is not innate, but acquired.
It is not grounded upon the conftitution of man,
but upon his actions. Writers on jurifprudence
have explained its origin in a manner that may fa-
tisfy every man of common uqderftanding.

The earth is given to men in common for the pur-
pofes of life, by the bounty of Heaven. But, to
divide it, and appropriate one part of its produce to
one, another part to another, muft be the work ot
men who have power and underftanding given them,
by which every man may accommodate himfclf with-
out hurt to any other.

This

OF JUSTICE. 46-

This common right of every man to what the
earth pVoduces, before it be occupied and appropri-
ated by others, was, by ancient nioraliils, very pro-
perly comparctl to the right which every citizen had
to the public theatre, v/here every man that came
mi;^ht occupy an empty feat, and thereby acquire a
right to it while the entertainment laftcd ; but no
man had a right to diCpolfefs another.

Tlie earth is a great theatre, furniihed by the Al-
mighty, with perfect wifdom and goodnefs, for the
entertainment and employment of all mankind.
Here ^very man has a right to accoilimodate himfelf
as a fpeclator, and to perform his part as an a6ior,
but without hurt to others.

lie who dties fp is a juil man, and thereby entitled
to fon\e degree of m6ral approbation ; and he who
not only does no hurt, but employs his power to do
good, is a good man, and is thereby entitled to a!
higher degree of moral approbation. But he who
jullles and molefts his neighbour, who deprives him
of any accommodation which his induftry has pro-
vided without hurt to others, is unjuft, and a pro-
per object of refentment.

It is true, therefore, that property has a begin-
ning from the aclions of men, occupying, and per-
haps improving, by their induftry, what was com-
mon by nature. It is true alio, that before proper-
ty exilis, that branch of juftice and injuftice which
regards property cannot exift. But it is alfo true,
that where there are men, there will very foon be
property of one kind or aViotTier,' and confecjuently
there will be that br;mch of juftice which attends
property as its guardian.

There are t\vx) kinds of property which we may
diflino'uifli.

'i'he ///y/ is what muft prcfently be confumed to
fufVain life ; the fecmid, which is more permanent, is
what may be laid up and ilorcd for the fupply of
future wants.

Some

400

ESSAY V. Chap. V.

Some of tlic gifts of nature muft be ufcd and con-
funicd by individuals for the daily fupport of life ;
but they cannot be ufcd till they be occupied and ap-
propriated. If another perfon may, without injuf-
tice, rob mc of what I have innocently occupied for
prcfent fubfiftcnce, the neceffary coniequeiice muft
be, that he may, without injuftice, take away my
life.

A right to life implies a right to the neceffary
means of life. And that juftice wliich forbids the
taking away the life of an innocent man, forbids no
iefs the taking from him the neceffary means of life.
He has the fame right to defend the one as the other j
and nature infpires him with the fame jufl refent-
mcnt of the one injury as of the other.

The natural right of liberty implies a right to fuch
innocent labour as a man chufes, and to the fruit
of that labour. To hinder another man's innocent
labour, or to deprive him of the fruit of it, is an
injuilice of the fame kind, and has the fame effecl
as to put him in fetters or in prifon, and is equally
a jull obje6l of refentment.

Thus it appears, that fome kind, or fome degree,
of property muft exift wherever men exifl, and that
the right to fuch property is the neceilary confe-
quence of the natural right of men to life and li-
berty.

It has been further 5bfervcd, that God has made
man 4 fagacious and provident animal, led by his
conilitution not only to occupy and ufe what nature
has provided for the fupply of liis prefent wants and
neceffities, but to forcfee future wants, and to pro-
vide for them ; and that not only for himfelf, but
for his family, his friends and conne(5lions.

He therefore ac^ls iii perfect conformity to his na-
ture, when he ftores, of the fruit of his labour,
what may afterwards be ufeful to himfelf or to
others ; when he invents and fabricates utenfils or
inacliines by which his labour may be facilitated,

and

O F J U S T I C E. 407

and its produce increafed ; and when, by exchanging
M'ith his fcllow-mcn commodities or labour, he ac-
commodates both himfelf and them. 'Ihel'c are the
natural and innocent exertions of that underftand-
ing wherewith his Maker has endowed him. He
has therefore a right to cxcrcife them, and to enjoy
the fruit of them. Every man who impedes him
in making fuch exertions, or deprives him of the
fruit of them, is injurious and un.jufl, and an ob-
jecl of juft refentment.

Many brute-animals are led by inftincl to provide
for futurity, and to defend their ftore, and their
llore-houfe, againft all invaders. There feems to be
in man, before the ufe of reafon, an inftiiicT: of the
lame kind. When reafon and confcicnce grow up,
they approve and jullify this provident care, and
condemn, as unjuil, every invalion of others, that
may fruftrate it.

Two inftances of this provident fagacity feem to
be peculiar to man. I mean the invention of uten-
fils and machines for facilitating labour, and the
making exchanges with his fellow-men for mutual
benefit. No tribe of men has been found fo rude
as not to praclife thcfc things in fomc degree. And
I know no tribe of brutes that was ever obferved to
pracfife them. They neither invent nor ufe uten-
iils or machines, nor do they trallic by exchanges.

From thcfe obfervations, I think it evident, that
man, even in the ftate of nature, by his powers of
body and mind, may acquire permanent property,
or what we call riches^ by which his own and his fa-
mily's wants are more liberally fuppiied, and his
power enlarged to requite his benefactors, to relieve
objects of companion, to make friends, and to de-
fend his property againil unjuft invaders. And we
know from hillory, that men, who had no fupcrior
on earth, no conne(Siion with any public beyond
their own family, have acquired property, and hatl
diitind notions of that jultice and injulHce, of
will eh it is the ubjcci.

Every

4c8 ESSAY V. Chap. V.

Every man, as a reafona-ble creature, has a right to
gratify his natural and innocent cleliresj without
hurt to others. Nadefire is mor« natural,, of more
realmiable, than that of fupplying his wants. When
this is. done without h'jtrt to any man, to hinder or
fruHrgte his innocent labour, is an unjuft violation
of hi^ natural liberty. Private utility leads a man
to deiire property, and to labour for it ; and his
right to it is only a riglit to labour for his own Lev
nefir.

That piiblic utility '^ the- fole origin, even of that
branch of juftice which regards property, is fo far
from being true, that when men confederate and
conftitute a public, under laws and government, the
right of each individual: to his property-is, by that
confederation, abridged and limited, latheftateof
nature every man's property was folely at his own
difpofal, becaufc he had no fupcrior. In civil ibci-
ety it muft be fubjecl to the laws of the fociety. He
gives up to the public part of that right which he
had in the ftate of nature, as the price of that pro-
tection and fecurity which he receives from civil io-
ciety. In the ftate of nature, he was fole judge in
his own cauie, and had right to defend his proper-
ty, his liberty, and his life, as far as his power reach-
ed. In the ftate of civil fociety, he muft fubmit to
the judgment of the fociety, and acquiefce in itsi
fcntcncc, though he fhould conceive it to be un-
juil.

What was faid above, of the natural right cvei-y*
man has to acquire permanent property, and to ciif-
pofeof it, nauft be underftood \vith this condition.
That no other man be thereby deprived of the ne-
ceflary means of life. The right of an innocent man
to the neceiTaries of life, is, in its nature, fupcrior
to that which the rich man has to his riches, even
though they be honeftiy acquired. Tlie ufe of riches,
or permanent property, is to fupply future and cafu-
al wants, which ought to yield to prefent and certain
neceility.

As,

OF J U 3 T I C K. 409

As, in a family, jullice requires that the chiklrcn
who are unable to hibour, and thofe who, by fick-
nefs, arc difabled, Ihould have their neceflities i'up-
plied out o£ the common ftock, i'o, in the great fa-
mily of God, of which all mankind are the children",
juftice, 1 think, as well as charity, requires, that the
neceflities of thofc who, by the providence of God,
are dii;il)led from fupplying themfelves, fliould be
iupplied from what might otherwilc be ftored foT
future wants.

From this it appears. That the right of acquiring
and that of difpofmg of property, may befubject to
limitations and reih-ictioivi, even in the Itate of na-
ture, and much more in the ftate of civil fociety, in
which the public has what writers in jurifprudencc
call an eminent dominian over the property, as well ar>
over the lives of the fubjedts, as for as the public
good retjuires.

If thefc principles be well founded, Mr. Hume's
arguments to prove that juftice is an artificial virtue,
or that its public utility is the fole foundation of its
merit, may be calily anfwered.

He fuppofes^ firji^ a ftate in which nature has be-
ftowed on the human race, fuch abundance of ex-
ternal goods-, that every man, without care or in-
duftry, finds himfelf provided of whatever he can
wifh ordefire. It is evident, fays he, that in fuch a.
ftate, the cautious jealous virtue of juftice would
never once have been dreamed of.

It may be obfer\'ed, firjl. That this argument ap-
plies only to one of the lix branches of juftice before
mentioned. The other five are not in the leaft af-
fccled by it ; and the Reader will eafily perceive that
tliis obfervation applies to almoft all his arg*umcnts,
fo that it need not be repeated.

Secondly^ i\l\ that this argument proves is, That a
ftate of the human race may be conceived wherein
no property exifts, and where, of confequcnce, there
can be no cxcr.cife of that brancJi of juftice which

rcl'pecT^

4 TO ESSAY V. Chap. V.

rcfpccts property. But does it follow from this, tliat
where property cxifts, and muft exift, that no re-
gard ought to be had to it ?

He next fuppofes that the neccflitics of the human
race continuing the fame as at prefent, the mind is
fo enlarged with friendlhip and gcnerofity, that eve-
ry man feels as much tcndernefs and concern for the
intereft of every man, as for his own. It fecms
evident, he fays, that the ufe of juftice would be
fufpended by fuch an extenlive benevolence, nor
would the diviiions and barriers of property and ob-
ligation have ever been thought of.

I anfwcr, I'hc conduct which this extenfive bene-
volence leads to, is either perfectly confident with
iuilice, or it is not. Firji^ If there be any cafe v/hcre
this benevolence would lead us to do injuftice, the
m{<s^^. of juftice is not fufpended. Its obligation is fu-
pcrior to that of benevolence ; and, to fhcw bene-
volence to one, at the expence of injuftice to another,
is immoral. Secondly, Suppofmg no fuch cafe could
happen, the ufc of juftice would not be fufpended,
becaufe by it v/e muft dilHnguifh good otiices to
wiiich we had a right, from thofe to which we had
no right, and which therefore require a return of
gratitude. Thirdly, Suppofmg the ufe of juftice to
he fufpended, as it muft be in every cafe where it
cannot be exercifcd. Will it follow, that its obliga-
tion is fulpcnded, where there is accefs to cxercife
i:?

A third fuppofition is, the revcrfe of the firft,
"fhat afocicty falls into extreme want of the ncceifa-
vics of life : The quefiion is put, Vx^hethcr in fuch a
cafe, an equal partition of bread, without regard to
private property, though effected by power, and
even by violence, would be regarded as crin:inal and
injurious ? And the Author conceives, that this would
be a ful'pcnfion of the ftrift laws of juftice.

I anfwcr, 'i hat fuch an equal partition as AFr.
UuMK mentions, is fo far from being criminal or in-
jurious,

O F J U S T I C E. 411

jurious, that jufticc requires it ; and furcly that can-
not be a fufpenfion of the huvs of jufticc, which is
an 3.S. of jufticc. 7^11 that the ilrictcll juilice requires
In fuch a cafe, is. That the man whofe life is pre-
fcrved at the cxpence of another, and without his
confent, fhould indemnify him when he is able.
His cale is fmiilar to that of a debtor who is infol-
vcnt, wltliout any fault on his part. Juftice requires
that he fliould be forborn till he is able to pay. It is
ftrangc that Mr. Hume fhould think that an acfion,
neither criminal nor injurious, Ihould be a fufpenfion
of the laws of juflice. This fcems to me a contra-
diction ; for jujlice and injury are contradictory
terms.

The next argument is thus expreiled : " When any
" man, even in political fociety, renders himfelf, by
" crimes, obnoxious to the public, he is punifhed in
" his goods and perfon ; that is, the ordinary rules
" of juftice are, with regard to him, fufpended for
" a moment, and it becom.es equitable to inflift on
" him, what othcrwife he could not fufier without
" wrong or injury."

This argument, like the former, refutes itfclf.
For that an action ftiould be a fufpenlion of the rules
of juftice, and at the fame time equitable, feems to
mc a contradiction. It is pofiiblc that equity may
interfere with the letter of human laws, becauie all
the cafes that may fall under them, cannot be fore-
fccn ; but that equity ftiould interfere with jufticc is
impofTilile. It is ftrangeth.it Mr. Hume ftiould think,
that jufticc requires that a criminal fliould be treat-
ed in the fame way as an innocent man.

Another argument is taken from public w.'-r.
Vv'hat is it, fays he, but a fufpenfion ofjuftice amcni)^
the warring parties ? The laws of war, which then
fuccccd to thofe of equity and juftice, are rules cal-
culated for the advantage and utility of that particu-
lar llatc in which men arc now placed.

I anfwcr.

412 E S S A Y V. Chap. V.

i :iiir\\-or, wlicn war is undcrcaken for lelf-defcnce,
or.fdr rv''p:\ration of intolerable ii'vjuries, juftice aii-
tlinrricT it. The laws of war, which have been def-
criberd by many jrudicious moralifts, are all drawn
Ironl th« fountain of juftice and equity ; and' every
thitig contrriTy to juftice, is contrary to the laws of
-War. That jmlice, which prefcribes one rule of con-
duct to a mafter, another to a fervant ; one to a
parent, another to a child ; prefcribes alfo oiie rule
of conducl: towards a friend, another towards aii
enetny. I do not underftand what Mr. Bume meatt^
by the advanfa^e and utility of a ftate of war, for
which he fays the laws of war are calculated, and
fuccccd to thofe of juftice and equity. I know no
laws of war that are not calculated for juftice and
equity.

The' next argument is this, wei*e thereafpecics of
creatures- intermingled with nien, which, though
ra/tional, weile poflelfed- of fuch inferior ft'rength,
both of body and mind, that they were incapable of
aii' rcfiftancCy a«d' could never, upon the higheft
provocation, make us feel the effects of their rolf^nt-
ment; the neceilary confequence-, I think,' is, t5iat
v.-e ftiouid be boundy by the laws of hurtvanity, to
give gentle ufage to thefe creatures, but fhould not,
properly fpeaitin^, lie under any feftraint of jiVftite
Nviili reg'ard to them, nor could thfey pOifcfs any
vight or property, exclufive of fuch arbitr.tr yloMs.

If Mr. HxfM'i: had not owned this fentiment as a-
confequence of his Theory of Morals, I ftiould have'
thougiit it very uncharitable to impute it to him.
However, we may judge of the Theory by its avi^V-
ed confequence; For there cannot be better evidence,
that a 'i'itcory of morals, or of any particular vir-
tue, is falie, ttiart when it flibvcrtS the practical rules
of morals. This dcfencclefs fpccics' of rational crea-
tures, is doomed by Mr. Hume to have lirt lights.
'Why r Bccauie they have no power to defend tlfeni'-
idvcs. Is TiOt tliis to fay, That right has its origin

from

O F J U S T I C E. 413

from power j u'hich, indeed, was the cjoclriiie of
Mr. HoDBLs. And to illullratc tliis doclrir.c, Mr-
HuM£ adds. That as no inconvenience ever refultx
from the excrcilc of a power, fo iirinly eftabjiflied
in nature, the reftraints of juftice and property bet-
ing totally ulelels, could never h^.vc place in fo un-
efjual a confederacy ; and, to tlie fame purpose, he
fays, that the female part of our own fpccies, owe
the fliarc they have in the rights of fociety, to the
power which their addrefs and their charms give
them. ]i this be found morals, Mr. Huml's 'Jheor
ry of fuflice may be true.

We may here obferve, thfit though, in other
places, Mr. Hume founds the obligation of juftice
upon its utility to ourfdvcs^ or to ethers^ it is here
founded folcly upon utility to ourfclves. For furcJy
to be treated with juitice would be highly ulcful to
the defencelefs fpecies he here fuppofes to exift. But
as no inconvenience to ourfelves can ever rcfult froi-i
pur treatment of them, he concludes, that juftice
would be ufelefs, and therefore can have no plaice.
Mr. IIoBBEs could have faid no more.

|Ie fuppofes, in the hyi pl;^ce, a ftate of hiunan
nature, wherein all fociety and intercourfp is cut off
between man and man. It is evident, he fays, that
fo foiitary a being would be as much incapable of
juftice as of focial difcourfe and converfation.

And would not fo foiitary a being be as inc;ipable
of fricndihip, gcnerofity and compaflign, as of juf-
tice ? If this argument prove juitice to be an artifi-
cial virtue, it will, with equal force, prove every
focial virtue to be artificial.

Thefe are the arguiTients which Mr. Hume ha$ ad-
vanced in his Enquiry, in the firft part of a long fec-
tlon upon jufiice.

In the fccond part, the .argurncnts are not fo clear-
ly diftinguiflicd, nor can they be ealUy collecfted. I IhaU
ofler lome remarks upon wh.at fecms iiiolt fpcci(,)us
in this fcco];id p^rt.

414 ESSAY V. Chap. V.

He begins with obfcrving, " That, if wc examine
" the particular laws by which juftice is directed and
*' property determined, they prefent us with the
" lame conclufion. The good of mankind is the
" only objecl of all thofe laws and regulations."

It is not eafy to perceive where the ftrefs of this
argument lies. The good of mankind is the ohjcd of all
the laws and regulations by which jufiice is directed and
property determined ; therefore ju/iice is not a natural
virtue, hut has its origin folely from public utility, ajid
its beneficial confcquences are the fole foundation of its me-
rit.

Some ftep feems to be wanting to connect the an-
tecedent proportion with the conclufion, which, 1
think, muft be one or other of thefe two proportions;
lirft. All the rules of jufiice tend to public utilitv, or, fe-
condly, Public utility is the only fiandard of juftice, from
which alcne all its rules mufl be dediiced.

If the argument be, That juftice muft have its
origin folely from public utility, becaufe all its rules
tend to public utility, 1 cannot admit the confe-
quence ; nor can Mr. Hume admit it without over-
turning his own fyftem. For the rules of benevo-
lence and Immanity do all tend to the public utility,
and yet in his fyftem, they have another foundation
in human nature ; fo likewife may the rules of
juftice.

I am apt to think, therefore, that the argument
is to be taken in the laft fenfe. That public utility is
the only ftandard of juftice, from which all its rules
muft be deduced ; and therefore juftice has its origin
folely from public utility.

This fecms to be Mr. Hume's meaning, becaufe,
in what follows, he obicrvcs, That, in order to ef-
tablifli laws for the regulation of property, we muft
be acquainted with the nature and fituation of man ;
muft rcjcfl appearances which may be falfe, though
ipccious ; and muft fearch for thofe rules v/hich are,
on the whole, moft ufcful and beneficial ; and en-
deavours

OF J U S T I C r.. 41,'

deavours to flicw, tiiiit the cftal)lifliecl rules which
rcojard proi)erty are more for the public good, than
the iyftcivi, cither of thofc religious fanatics of the
lall age, who held, that faints only fhould inherit
the earth ; or of thoic political fanatics, who claim-
ed an equal divifion of property.

We fee here, as before, that though Mr. IIcMf's
conclufion rdpe^is jufiice in general, Ids argunicnt is
confined to one branch of julLice, to wit, the right
of property ; antl it is well known, that, to con-
clude from a part to the whole, ib not good rcafon-

Befides, the propofition from which his conclufion
is drawn, cannot be granted, either with regard to
prc^perty, or with regard to the other branches of
juftice.

We endeavoured before to fhow, that property,
though not an innate but an acquired rigiit, may be
acquired in the ftate of nature, and agreeably to the
laws of nature ; and that this right has not its origin
from human laws, made for the public good, tliough,
when men enter into political fociety, it mi.y and
ought to be regulated by thofc laws.

if there were but two men upon the face of the
earth, of ripe faculties, each might have l\is own
property, and might know his right to deft rid it,
and his obligation not to invade the property of the
other. He would have no need to have recourfe to
reafoning from public good, in order to know when
he was injured, cither in his property or in anv of
his natural rights, or to know what rules of juftice
he ought to obferve towards liis neighbour.

'rhe fnnple rule, of not doing to his neighbour
v.hat he would think wrong to be done to himfelf,
would lead him to the knowledge of every branch
of jufiice, without theconfideration of public good,
or of laws and ftalutes made to promote it.

It is not true, therefore, That public utility is tlie
only ilandard of juftice, and that the rules of jul-

liic

4I<J E S S A Y V. Chap. V.

ticc can be deduced only from their public uti-
lity.

Aristidks, and tlie people of Athens, had fvjrely
another notion of jullice, when he pronounced the
counfcl of Themistocles, which was communicated
to him only, to be highly ufeful, but unjuft ; and
the ailembly, upon this authority, rejected the pro-
pofal unheard. Thefe honeft citizens, though fub-
jcct to no laws but of their own m.aking, far from
making utility the ftandard of juftice, made juftioe
to be the ftandard of utility.

" What is a man s property ? Any thing which it is
" lawful for him, and for him alone, to ufe. But
" wJjat rule have we by which we can ci'ijUnguiJJj thefe
" cbjcds ? Kcre we muft have recourfe to ftatutcs,
" cuftoms, precedents, analogies, cifr."

Does not this imply, that, in the ftate of nature,
there can be no diftinction of property ? If fo, Mr.
Hume's ftate of nature is the fame with that of Mr.

HOBBES.

It is true, that, when men become members of a
political focicty, they fubjecb their property, as well
as themfelves, to the laws, and muft either acquiefce
in what the laws determine, or leave the fociety.
But juftice, and even that particular branch of it
which our author always fuppofes to be the whole, is
antecedent to political focieties and to their laws ;
and the intention of thefe laws is, to be the guardi-
ans of juftice, and to redrefs injuries.

As all the works of men are imperfe(5l, human
laws may be unjuft ; which could never be, if juftice
had its origin from law, as the author feems here to
inlinuatc.

Juftice requires, that a member of a ftate fliould
fubmit to the laws of the ftate, when they require
nothing unjuft or impious. There may, therefore,
be ftatutory rights and ftatutory crimes. A ftatute
may create a right which did not before exift, or
make that to be criminal which was not fo before.

But

O F J U S T I C E. 417

But this could never be, if there were not an ante-
cedent obligation upon the fubjecl:s to obey the
Itatutcs. In like manner, the command of a mailer
may make that to be the fcrvant's duty which, before,
was not his duty, and the fervant may be chargeable
with injulticc if he difobeys, bccaufe he was under
an antecedent obligation to obey his mafter in lawful
things.

We grant, therefore, that particular laws may
direct juilice and determine property, and fometimcs
even upon very flight reafons and analogies, or even
for no other reafon but that it is better that fuch a
point fliould be determined by law than that it
ihould be left a dubious fubje(5l of contention. But
this, far from prel'enting us with the conclufion
which the author would eftablifh, prefents us with
a contrary conclufion. For all thefe particular laws

and ftatutes derive their whole oblisration and force

from a general rule of juftice antecedent to them,
to wit, That fubjecls ought to obey the laws of theii
country.

The author compares the rules of juftice v/lth the
moft frivolous fuperftitions, and can find no founda-
tif)n for moral fentimcnt in the one more than in the
other, excepting thatjuftice is requifite to the well-
being and exiilence of focicty.

It is very true, that, if we examine mine and tljine
by the fenfcs of fight ^ fniell or touchy or fcriitinizc them
by the fclences of medicine^ cbemiflry or phyftcs^ we per-
ceive no difference. But the reafon is, that none of
thefe fenfcs or fciences are the judges of right or
wrong, or can give any conception of them, any
more than the ear of colour, or the eye of found.
Every man of common underftanding, and every
lavage, when he applies his moral faculty to thole
objects, perceives a dillerence as clearly as he per-
ceives day-light. \Vhen that fcnfe or faculty is not
confulted, in vain do we confult every other, in a
cjueftion uf right and wrong.

1) d To

4j3 E S S a Y V. CiiAr. V.

To perceive that juftice tends to the good of man-
kind, would lay no moral obligation upon us to be
juft, unlcfs we be confcious of a moral obligation to
do what tends to the good of mankind. If fuch a
moral obligation be admitted, why may we not
admit a Urono-er obligation to do injury to no man ?
1 he lall obligation is as eafily conceived as the firft,
and there is as clear evidence of its exiftence in hur
man nature.

The laft argument is a dilemma, and is thus ex-
prcfTed : " The dilemma fecms obvious. As juftice
" evidently tends to promote public utility, and to
" fupport civil fociety, the fentiment of juftice is
'- either derived from our reflecling on that ten-
" dency, or, like hunger, thirft and other appetites,
" refentment, love of life, attachment to offspring,
" and other paffions, arifes from a fimiple original
*' inftinct in the human breaft, which nature has
" implanted for like falutary purpofes. If the lat-
*' ter be the cafe, it follows. That property, which
'' is the object of juftice, is alfo diftinguifhed by a
*^ fimple original inftinct, and is not afcertained by
" any argument or refleclion. But who is there
*' that ever heard of fuch an inftincl:," ^c,

I doubt not but Mr. Htjme has heard of a princi-
ple called confciencey which nature has implanted in
the human breaft. Whether he will call it a fimple
original inftind, I know not, as he gives that name
to all our appetites and to all our pafTions. From
this principle, I think, we derive the fentiment of
juftice.

/tS the eye not only gives us the conception of co-
lours, but makes us perceive one body to have one
colour, and another body another ; and as our rea-
fon not only gives us the conception of true and
falfc, but makes us perceive one propofition to be
true and another to be falfc ; fo our confciencc, or
moral faculty, not only gives us the conception of
honcft and diflioncft, but makes us perceive one kind

O F J U S T I C E. 419

of conducl: to be honcft, rinotlicr to be diflioneft.
By this faculty we perceive a merit in honcft con-
duct, and a demerit in difhoncft, witliout regard to
public utility.

That thefe fentiments are not the c^cci of educa-
tion or of acquired habits, we have the fame rcalbn
to conclude, as that our perception of v.'hat is true
and what falfc, is not the efiecl of education or of
acquired habits. There have been men who profef-
i'cd to believe, that there is no cround to aitent to
any one proportion rather than its contrary; but I
never yet heard of a man who had the effrontery to
profcls himfelf to be under no oblipjation of honour
or honefty, of truth or juftice, in his dealings v/ith
men.

Nor docs this faculty of confcience require innate
ideas of property^ and of the 'various ivays of acquiring
and transferring it, or innate ideas of kings andfenators,
of prefers and chancellors and juries, any more than the
faculty of feeing requires innate ideas of colours, or
than the faculty of reafoning requires innate ideas of
cones, cylinders and fpheres.

D d n C H A l\

420 E S S A Y V. Chap. VI.

CHAP. VI.

Of the Nature and Obligation of a Contra^.

1 HE obligation of contracts and promiles is a
matter fo facred, and of fuch confequence to human
fociety, that fpeculations which have a tendency to
weaken that obligation, and to perplex men's noti-
ons on a fubjecl fo plain and fo im.portant, ought to
meet with the difapprobation of all honeft men.

Some fuch fpeculations, I think, we have in the
third volume of Mr. Hume's Treatife of Human
Nature, and in his Enquiry into the Principles of
Morals ; and my delign in this chapter is, to offer
fome obfervations on the nature of a contract or
promife, and on two paffages of that author on this
fubjedt.

I am far from faying or thinking, that Mr. Hume
meant to weaken men's obligations to honefty and
fair dealing, or that he had not a fenfe of thefe ob-
ligations himfelf. It is not the man I impeach, but
his writings. Let us think of the firft as charitably
as we can, while we freely examine the import and
tendency of the laft.

Although the nature of a contract and of a pro-
mife is perfectly underftood by all men of common
underftanding ; yet, by attention to the operations
of mind fignified by thefe words, we fhall be enabled
tojudgeof the metaphyfical fubtilties which have
been raifed about them. A promife and a contract
differ fo little in what concerns the prefcnt difquifi-
tion, that the fame reafoning (as Mr. Hume juftly
obfervcs) extends to both. In a promife, one party
only comes under the obligation, the other acquires
a right to the preftation promifed. But we give the

name

OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 421

name of a contract to a tranfaclion in which each
party comes under an obligation to the other, and
each reciprocally acquires a right to what is promifed
by the other.

The Latin word padnni feems to extend to both ;
and the delinition given of it in the Civil Law, and
borrowed from Ulpian, is, Duorwn pluriumve in idem
plac'itum confenfus, Trnus, a modern Civilian, has
endeavoured to make this delinition more complete,
by adding the words, Obligationis Hate ccnjlituenddz
I'd tollcnda caufa datus. With this addition the defi-
nition is, That a contract is the confent of two or
more perfons in tlie fame thing, given with the in-
tention of conlHtuting or diifolving lawfully fome
obligation.

This delinition is perhaps as good as any other that
can be given ; yet, 1 believe, every man will acknow-
ledge, that it gives him ho clearer or more diftinct
notion of a contract than he had before. If it is
confidcred as a ftriclly logical definition, I believe
fome objections might be made to it ; but I forbear
to mention them, becaufe I believe that fimilar ob-
jections might be made to any definition of a con-
tract that can be given.

Nor can it be inferred from this, that the notion
of a contract is not perfectly clear in every man
come to years of underftanding. For this is com-
mon to many operations of the mind, that although
we underftand them perfedily, and are in no danger
of confounding them with any thing elfe j yet we
cannot define them according to the rules of logic,
by a genus and a fpecific difference. And when we
attempt it, we rather darken than give light to
them.

Is there any thing more diftinctly underftood by
all men, than what it is to fee, to hear, to remem-
ber, to judge? Yet it is the moft diflicult thing in
the world to define thefe operations according to the

rules

422 ESSAY V. Chap. VL

rules of logical dcfinidon. But it is not more diiH-
cult than it is ufclcfs.

Sometimes Philofophers attempt to dcHne them ;
but, iF we examine their definitions, \ve fhall fmd,
that they amount to no more than giving one fyno-
nymous word for another, and commonly a worfe
for a better. So when we defme a contrad^, by
calling it a confent, a convention, an agreement,
what is this but jrivin£r a fvnonvmous word for it,
and a word that is neither more expreiTive nor better
underftood ?

One boy has a top, r.nother a fcourge ; fays the
firft to the other. If you will lend me your fcourge
as long as I can keep up my top v.ith it, you fliall
next have the top as long as you can keep it up.
Agreed, fays the other. This is a contract perfectly
underftood by both parties, though they never heard
of the defmition given by Ulpian or by Trrius.
And each of them knows, that he is injured if the
other breaks the bargain, and that he does wrong
if he breaks it himfelf.

The operations of the human mind may be divi-
ded into two claffes, the folitary and the focial. As
promifcs and contracis belong to the laft clafs, it may
be proper to explain this divifion.

1 call thofe operations frAltary^ which may be per-
formed by a man in folitude, without intercourfe
with any other intelligent being.

I call thofc operations yaf/V?/, whicli necelTiirily im-
ply focial intercourfe with fome other intelligent be-
ing who bears a part in them.

A man may fee, and hear, and remember, and
judge, and reafon ; he may deliberate and form pur-
pofes, and execute them, without the intervention
of any other intelligent being. They are folitary
aOs. But \\'hen he afics a quelHon for information,
when he teftifics a fa£t, when he gives a command
to hisfervant, when he makes a promife, or enters
iuto a coiitract, thefe arc focial ads oi mind, and

can

OF THE NATUIit: OF A CON TRACT. 423

can have no cxiflence without the intervention of
fome other intelligent being, who ucti a part in them.
Between the operations ol: the mind, which, for
want of a more proper name, I have called folitary^
and thofe I have called facial, there is this very re-
markable diilinclion, that, in the folitary, the ex-
preflion of them by words, or any other fenfible fign,
is accidental. They may exill, and be complete,
without being exprefl'ed, without being known to
any other perfon. But, in the focial operations, the
cxpreflion is cllential. They cannot exift without
being exprefled by words or figns, and known to
the other party.

If nature had not made man capable of fuch focial
operations of mind, and furnifhed him with a lan-
guage to exprefs them, he might think, and reafon,
and deliberate, and will ; he might have defires and
averfious, joy and forrow ; in a word, he might
exert all thofe operations oi mind, which the writers
in logic and pneumatology have fo copioufly def-
cribed ; but, at the fame time, he would ftill be a
folitary being, even when in a crowd ; it would be
impoffible for him to put a queftion, or give a com-
mand, to afk a favour, or teilify a faft, to make a
promife or a bargain.

I take it to be the common opinion of Philofo-
phers. That the focial operations of the human mind
are not fpecifically different from the folitary, and
that they are only various modifications or compofi-
tions of our folitary operations, and may be refolved
into them.

It is, for this reafon probably, that, in enumera-
ting the operations of the mind, the folitary only
are mentioned, and no notice at all taken of the
focial, though they are familiar to every man, and
have names in all languages.

I apprehend, however, it will be found extremely
diillcult, if not impoilible, to refolve our focial ope-
rations into any modification or compofition of the

folitary :

414 ESSAY V. Chap. VI. :

folitary : And that an attempt to do this, would
prove as ineffedlual as the attempts that have been
made to rcfoKe all our fecial affections into the fel-
fiih. The focial operations appear to be as fimple in
their nature as the folitary. They are found in every
individual of the fpccies, even before the ufe of rea-
fon.

The power which man has of holding focial inter-
courfe with his kind, by aifking and refufing, threat-
ening and fupplicating, commanding and obeying,
teftifying and promiling, muft cither be a diftindl
faculty given by our Maker, and a part of our con-
ftitution, like the powers of feeing, and hearing,
or it muft be a human invention. If men have in-
vented this art of focial intercourfe, it muft follow,
that every individual of the fpecies muft have invent-
ed it for himfelf. It cannot be taught ; for though,
when once carried to a certain pitch, it may be im-
proved by teaching ; yet it is impofiible it can begin
in that way, becaufe all teaching fuppofes a focial in-
tercourfe and language already eftabliflied between
the teacher and the learner. This intercourfe muft,
from the very firft, be carried on by fenfible figns ; for
the thoughts of other men can be difcovered in no
other way. I think it is likewife evident, that this
intercourfe, in its beginning at leaft, muft be carried
on by natural ligns, whofe meaning is underftood by
both parties, previous to all compact or agreement.
For there can be no compact without figns, nor with-
out focial intercourfe.

I apprehend therefore, that the focial intercourfe
of mankind, confifting of thofe focial operations
which 1 have mentioned, is the exercife of a faculty
appropriated to that purpofe, which is the gift of
God, no lefs than the powers of feeing and hearing.
And that, in order to carry on this intercourfe, God
has given to man a natural language, by which his
focial operations are cxprefTed, and, without which,

the

OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 425

the artificial languapjes of articulate founds, and of
writing, could never have been invented by human
iirt.

The figns in this natural language are looks, chan-
ges of the features, modulations of the voice, and
gcilures of the body. All men undcrftand this lan-
guage without inftrudion, and all men can ufe it in
fom.e degree. . But they are moft expert in it who ufe
it moft. It makes a great part of the language of
favages, and therefore they are more expert in the
ufe of natural figns than the civilized.

The language of dumb perfons is moftly formed of
natural figns ; and they are all great adepts in this
language of nature. All that we call acTion and pro-
nunciation, in the moft perfect orator, and the moft
admired aclor, is nothing elfe but fuperadding the
language of nature to the language of articulate
founds. The pantomimes among the Romans carri-
ed it to the higheft pitch of perfection. For they
could aft parts of comedies and tragedies in dumb-
fhcw, fo as to be underftood, not only by thofc \\ ho
were accuftomed to this entertainment, but by all
the ftrangers that came to Rome, from all the cor-
ners of the earth.

For it may be obferved of this natural language,
(and nothing more clearly dcmonftrates it to be a
part of the human conftitution,) that although it
require practice and ftudy to enable a man to exprefs
his fentiments by it in the moft perfect manner ; yet
it requires neither ftudy nor praftlce in the fpedlator
to underftand it. The knowledge of it was before
latent in the mind, and we no fooner fee it, than
we immediately recognife it, as we do an acquain-
tance whom we had long forgot, and could not have
dcfcribed ; but no fooner do we fee him, than we
know for certain that he is the very man.

This knowledge, in all mankind, of the natural
figns of men's thoughts and fentiments, is indeed fo

426 ESSAY V. Chap. VI.

like to remiiiifccnce, that it fcems to have led Plato
to conceive all human kno^vledge to be of that
kind.

It is not by reafoning, tliat all mankind know,
that an open countenance, and a placid eye, is a fign
of amity ; that a contracted brow, and a fierce look,
is the fign of anger. It is not from reafon that we
learn to know the natural figns of confenting and
Tcfufing, of affirming and denying, of threatening
and fupplicating.

No man can perceive any neceffary connection be-
tween the figns of fuch operations, and the things
fignified by them. But we are fo formed by the
Author of our nature, that the operations themfelves
become vifible, as it were, by their natural figns.
This knowledge refembles reminifcence, in this re-
fpecl, that it is immediate. We form the conclufion
with great aflurance, without knowing any premifes
from which it may be drawn by reafoning.

It would lead us too far from the intention of the
prefent enquiry, to confider more particularly, in
what degree the focial intercourfe is natural, and
a part of our conftitution ; how far it is of human
invention.

It is fufiicient to obferve, that this intercourfe of
human minds, by which their thoughts and fenti-
mcnts are exchanged, and their fouls mingle toge-
ther as it were, is common to the whole fpecies
from infancy.

Like our other powers, its firft beginnings are
weak, and fcarcely perceptible. But, it is a certain
fa61, that we can perceive fome communication of
fentimcnts between the nurfe and her nurlling, be-
fore it is a month old. And I doubt not, but that,
if both had grown out of the earth, and had never
feen another human face, they v/ould be able in a
few years to converfe together.

There appears indeed to be fome degree of focial
intercourfe among brute-animals, and between fome

OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 427

of them and man. A dop; exults in the carefles of
his mafcer, and is humbled at his difpleafure. But
there arc two operations of the focial kind, of which
the brute-animals fcem to be altogether incapable.
They can neither plight their veracity by teilimo-
iiy, nor their fidelity by any engagement or promife.
if nature had made them capable of thefe operati-
ons, they would have had language to expreis them
by, as man has : But of this wc fee no appearance.

A fox is faid to ufe ftratagems, but he cannot lie ;
becaufe he cannot give his tclliniony nor plight his
veracity. A dog is faid to be faithful to his mafter ;
but no more is meant but that he is affectionate, for
he never came under any engagement. I fee no evi-
dence, that any brute-animal is capable of either giv-
ing teftimony or making a promifc.

A dumb man cannot fpeak any more than a fox
or a dog ; but he can give his tclHmony by figns as
early in life as other men can do by words. He
knows what a lie is as early as other men, and hates
it as much. He can plight his faith, and is fcnfible
of the obligation of a promifc or contrac^t.

It is therefore a prerogative of man, that he can
communicate his knowledge of facts by teftimony,
and enter into engagements by promife or contract.
God has given I;im thefe powers by a part of his con-
ftitution, wliich dillinguilhes him from all brute-ani-
mals. And whether they arc original powers, or re-
folveable into other original powers, it is evident they
fpring up in the human mind at an early period of
life, and arc found in everv individual of the fnc-
cies, wdicther favage or civilized.

Thefe prerogative powers of man, like all his
other powers, nmil be given for fome end, and for
a good end. And if we confidcr a little farther the
ceconomy of nature, in relation to this part of tie
human conflitutioii, we fliall perceive the wifdcnn of
Nature in the ftructure of it, and difcovcr clearly our
duty in confequence of it.

428 ESSAY V. Chap. VI.

It is evident, in the firji place, that if no credit
was given to teftlmony, if there was no reliance up-
on proniifes, they would anfwcr no end at all, not
even that of deceiving.

Secondly, Suppofmg men difpofed by fome princi-
ple in their nature to rely on declarations and pro-
mifes ; yet if men found in experience, that there
was no fidelity on the other part in making and in
keeping them, no man of common underftanding
would truft to them, and fo they would become
ufelefs.

Hence it appears thirdly. That this power of giv-
ing teftimony, and of promifing, can anfwer no end
in fociety, unlefs there be a confiderable degree, both
of fidelity on the one part, and of truft on the other.
Thefe two muft ftand or fall together, and one of
them cannot poflibly fubfift without the other.

Fourthly, It may be obferved, that fidelity in de-
clarations and promifes, and its counter-part, truft
and reliance upon them, form a fyftem of focial in-
tercourfe, the moft amiable, the moft ufeful that can
be among men. Without fidelity and truft, there
can be no human fociety. There never was a fociety,
even of favages, nay even of robbers or pirates, in
which there was not a great degree of veracity and
of fidelitv amon'X themfelves. Without it man would
be the moft unfocial animal that God has made. His
ftate would be in reality what Hobbes conceived the
ftate of nature to be, a ftate of war of every man
againft every man ; nor could this war ever termi-
nate in peace.

It may be obferved, in the fifth place, that man
is evidently made for living in fociety. His focial
afi'eclions fhew this as evidently, as that the eye was
made for feeing. His focial operations, particular-
ly thofe of teftifyingand promifing, make it no lels
evident.

From thefe obfervations it follows, that if no pro-
vifion were made by nature, to engage men to fide-
lity

OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 429

Hty in declarations and promifes, human nature
M'ould be a contradiclion to itlelf, made for an end,
yet without tlie ncceflary means of attaining it. As
if the fpecies had been furnifhed with good eyes, but
without the power of opening their eye-lids. There
arc no blunders of this kind in the works of God.
Wherever there is an end intended, the means are
admirably fitted for the attainment of it ; and fo
we hnd it to be in the cafe before us.

For we fee that children, as foon as they are ca-
pable of underilanding declarations and promifes,
are led by their conftitution to rely upon them.
They are no Icfs led by conftitution to veracity arid
candour, on their own part. Nor do they ever de-
viate from this road of truth and fincerity, until
corrupted by bad example and bad company. This
difpofition to fmcerity in themfelvcs, and to give
credit to others, whether we call it inftinit^ or what-
ever name we give it, muft be confidered as the ef-
fect of their conftitution.

So that the things effential to human fociety, I
mean good faith on the one part, and truft on the
other, arc formed by nature in the minds of chil-
dren, before they are capable of knowing their uti-
lity, or being influenced by confiderations either of
duiy or intcrek.

When we grow up fo fiir as to have the concep-
tion of a right and a wrong in conduct, the turpi-
tude of lying, falfehood, and diihonefcy, is difcern-
cd, not by any train of reafoning, but by an imme-
diate perception. For we fee that every man dif-
approvcs it in others, even thofe who are confcious
of it in themfelves.

Every man thinks himfelf injured and ill ufcd,
and feels refcntmcnt, when he is impofed upon by
it. Every man takes it as a reproach when falfehood
is imputed to him. Thefc are the clcareft evidences,
that ;dl men difapprovc of falfehood, when their
judgment is notbialTed.

I know

430 E S A Y V. Chap. VI.

I know of no evidence that has been given of" any
nation fo rude, as not to have thefe fentiments. It
is certain that dumb people have them, and difcover
them about the fame period of Hfe, in which they
appear in thofe who fpeak. And it may reafonably
be thought, that dumb perfons, at that time of life,
have had as little advantage, with regard to morals,
from their education, as the greateft favages.

Every man come to years of refleclion, when lie
pledges his veracity or fidelity, thinks he has a right
to be credited, and is affronted if he is not. But
there cannot be a fliadow of right to be credited, un-
lefs there be an obligation to good faith. For right
on one hand, neceifarily implies obligation on the
other.

When we fee that in the mofl favage ftate, that
ever was known of the human race, men have al-
ways lived in focieties greater or lels, this of itfelf
is a proof from facft, that they have had that fenfe
of their obligation to fidelity, without which no hu-
man fociety can fubfifl.

From thefe obfcrvations, I think, it appears very
evident, that as fidelity on the one part, and trull
on the other, are effential to that intercourfe of men,
which we call human fociety ; fo the Author of our
nature has made wife provifion for perpetuating
them among men, in that degree that is neceflary to
human fociety, in all the different periods of human
life, and in all the flages of human improvement and
degeneracy.

In early years, we have an innate difpofition to
them. In riper years, we feel our obligation to fi-
delity as much as to any moral duty whatfoever.

Nor is it neceffary to mention the collateral in-
ducements to this virtue, from confiderations of pru-
dence, which are obvious to every man that reflects.
Such as, that it creates truft, the moft eftecluai
engine of human power ; that it requires no artifice
or concealment ; dreads no dctcclion j that it in-

fpires

OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 431

fplrcs courage and magnanimity, and is the natural
ally of every virtue ; fo that there is no virtue what-
foevcr, to which our natural obligation appears more
ftrong or more apparent.

An obfervation or two, with regard to th.e nature
of a contradtj will be fulHcient for the prefent pur-
pofe.

It is obvious that the preftation promifed mull be
underflood by both parties. One party engages to
do fuch a thing, another accepts of this engagement.
An engagement to do, one does not know what,
can neither be made nor accepted. It is no lefs ob-
vious, that a contract is a voluntary tranfaclion.

But it ought to be obferved, that the will, which
is eflential to a contract, is only a w ill to engage,
or to become bound. We mud beware of confound-
ing this will, with a will to perform what we have
engaged. The laft can fignify nothing elfe than an
intention and fixed purpofe to do what we have en-
gaged to do. The will to become bound, and to
confer a right upon the other party, is indeed the
very elu ncc of a contract ; but the purpofe of
fulfilling our engagement, is no part of the contract
;it all,

A purpofe is a folitary act of mind, which lays no
ob!ig:itian on the pcrfon, nor confers any right on
another. A fraudulent perfon may contracT with a
fixed purpofe of not performing his engagement.
But this purpofe makes no change with regard to
his obligation. He is as much bound as the honeit
man, who contracts with a fixed purpofe of per-
forming.

As the contra(fl is binding without any regard to
the purpofe, fo there maybe a purpofe without any
contract. A purpofe is no contract, even when it is
declared to the perfon for whofc benefit it is inten-
ded. I may fay to a man, 1 intend to do fuch a thing
for your benefit, but I come under no engagement.
F.very n^.an undcrftands the meaning of this ipeech,

and

432 E S S A Y V. Chap. VI.

and fees no contradic5lion in it : Whereas, if a pur-
pofe declared were the fame thing with a contract,
fuch a fpeech would be a contradiction, and would
be the fame as if one fliould fay, I promifc to do fuch
a thing, but 1 do not promife.

All this is fo plain to every man of common fenfe,
that it would have been unneceffary to be mentioned,
had not fo acute a man as Mr. Hume grounded fome
of the contradiftions he finds in a contract, upon
confounding a will to engage in a contract with a
will or purpofe to perform the engagement.

I come now to confider the fpeculations of that
Author with regard to contracts.

In order to fupport a favourite notion of his own.
That juftice is not a natural but an artificial virtue,
and that it derives its whole merit from its utility,
he has laid down fome principles, which, 1 think,
have a tendency to fubvert all faith and fair-dealing
among mankind.

In the third volume of the Treatife of Human
Nature, p. 40. he lays it down as an undoubted max-
im. That no action can be virtuous or morally good,
unlefs there be, in human nature, fome motive to
produce it, diftind from its morality. Let us apply
this undoubted maxim in an initance or tv/o. If a
man keeps his word, from this fole motive, that he
ought to do fo, this is no virtuous or morally good
action. If a man pays his debt from this motive,
that jufi:ice requires this of him, this is no virtuous
or morally good action. If a judge or an arbiter
gives a fentence in a caufe, from no other motive
but regard to juftice, this is no virtuous or morally
good action. Thefe appear to me to be fliocking
abfurdities, which no metaphyfical fubtilty can ever
juftify.

Nothing is more evident than that every human
acftion takes its denomination and its moral nature
from the motive from which it is performed. That
is a benevolent action, which is done from benevo-
lence.

OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 433

Icnce. That is an acl of gratitude wliich is done
from a fcntimcnt of gratitude. Tliat is an acl of
obedience to God, which is done from a regard to
his command. And, in general, that is an act of
virtue which is done from a regard to virtue.

Virtuous a6tions are fo far from needing other
motives, befides their being virtuous, to give them
merit, that their merit is then greateft and mod
ronipicuous, when every motive tiiat can be put in
the oppofite fcale is outweighed by the folc confide-
ration of their being our duty.

This maxim, therefore, of IMr. Hume, That no
acTiion can be virtuous or morally good, unlcfs there
be fome motive to produce it diftiacl from its mo-
rality, is fo far from being undoubtedly true, that
it is undoubtedly falfe. It was never, fo far as I
know, maintained by any moralirt, but by the Epi-
cureans ; and it favours of the very dregs of that
icct. It agrees well with the principles of thofe who
maintained, that virtue is an empty name, and that
it is entitled to no regard, but in as far as it minif-
lers topleafure or profit.

I believe the author of this maxim a6ted upon
better moral principles than he wrote ; and that
svhat CiCKRO fa/s of Epicurus, may be applied to
him : Rcdaj-guitur ipfe a fefe, vincunturque fcripta ejus
probitatc ipfius el moribus, ct ut alii cxijtimantur diccrc
hielius quajii facere^Jic ille tnihi vidctur facere melius quam
dlcere.

But let us fee how he applies this maxim to con-
tracts. I give you his words from the place formerly
cited. "^ I fuppofe, fays he, a perfon to have lent
" me a fum of money, on condition that it be ref-
" tored in a few days ; and, after the expiration
" of the term agreed on, he demands the fum. I
"'- alk, what reafon or motive have I to reflore the
** money ? It will perhaps be faid, that my regard
'^ U) jullice and abhorrence of villany and knavery,
*' are lufTicient reafons for me, if I have the leaft

K e " .c:rain

434 ^ ^ '^ A Y V. Chap. VI.

** grain of honefty, or fcnfe of duty and obligation.
" And this anfwer, no doubt, is juft and fat is factory
*•' to man in his civilized ftate, and when trained up
" according to a certain difciplinc and education.
*' But, in his rude and more natural condition, if
'* you are pleafed to call fuch a condition natural,
" tliis anfwer would be rejected as perfectly unin-
" telligible and fophiftical."

71ie doclrine we are taught in this pafTage is this.
That though a man, in a civiii"ed ftate, and when
trained up according to a certain clifcipline and
education, may have a regard tojuftice, and an ab-
horrence of villany and knavery, and fome fcnfe of
duty and obligation ; yet to a man in his rude and
more natural condition, the confiderations of ho-
nefty, juftice, duty and obligation, will be perfectly
unintelligible and fophiftical. And this is brought
as an argument tofliew, that juftice is not a natural
but an artificial virtue.

I fliall oiver fome obfervations on this argument.

I. Although it may be true, that what is unin-
telligible to map in his rude ftate maybe intelligible
t<^liini m his -civili^.cd ftate, I car.not conceive, that
what is fophiftical in the rude ftate fliould change
its nature, and become juft reafoning, when man is
rriorc improved. What is a fophifm, will always be
fo ; nor can any change in the ftate of the perfon
who judges, make that to be juft reafoning which
before was fophiftical. Mr. IIumf,'s argument re-
quires, that to man in his rude ftate, the motives to
juftice and honcfty fliould not only appear to be fo-
phiftical, but fnould really be fo. If the motives
were juft in thenrifclvcs, then juftice would be a na-
tural virtue, although the rude man, by an error (?t
his judgrrrent, thought othenvife. But if juftice be
not a jiatural virtue, Vvhich is the point Mr. Hume
intends to prove, then every argument, by M'hich
man in his natural ftate may be urged to it, muft be
a fophifm in reality, and not in appearance only ;

and

OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 435

and the effect of difcipline and education in tlic civi-
lijjed ftate can only be to make thofe motives to
jufticc appear juft and fatisfaclory, which, in tlieir
own nature, arc fopliilHcal.

2. It were to be wifticd, that tliis ingenious Au-
thor hadChcwn us, why that ftate of man, in which
the obHgation to honeily, and an abhorrence of vil-
J^ny, appear pertcclly unintelligible and fophillical^
fhould be his juore natural Jiatc.

it is the nature of human fociety to be progreiTive,
as much as it is the nature of the individual. In the
Individual, the ftate of infancy leads to that of
childhood, childhood to youth, youth to manhood,
^nd manhood to old age. If one fliould fay, that
the ftate of infancy is a more natural ftate than tiiat
of manhood or of old age, I am apt to think, that
this would be words without any meaning. In like
manner, in human fociety, -there is a natural progrcfs
from rudenefs to civilization, from ignorance to
knowledge. What period of this progrefs fhall we
gall man's natural ftate ? To me they appear all equal-
ly natural. EvTry ftate of fociety is coually natural,
V^dierein men have opportunity to exert their natural
powers about tl)cir proper objects, and to improve
thofe powers by the means which their fituation
allords.

Mr. Hume, indeed, flicws fome timidity in affirm-
ing the rude ftate to be the mor^ natural ftate of man;
and, therefore, adds this qualifying parenthcfis, If
you arc pleafed to call fueh a condition natural.

But it ought to be obferved. That if the premifes
of his argument be weakened by this claufe, the
fame wcaknefs ly.uft be communicated to the con-
clulion ; and the conclufion, according to the rules
of good reafoning, ought to be. That jufticc is an
artificial virtue, ir you be pleafed to call it arti-
ficial.

;. It were likewife to be wiflied, that Mr. Hume

had Ihewn from ii3., that there ever did exift fuch a

iia^e of man as that wliich he calls his more natural

E e 2 ftate.

4^6 ESSAY V. Chap. VT

ftatc. It is n ftatc wlierein a man borrows a ftim of
money, on the canditron that he is to reftore it in a
few days ; yet when the time of payment comes,
liis ol)ii.^ation to repay what he borrowed is pcrfcditlT
unintelligible and fophillical. It would have been
proper to have given at leaft a fingle inftance of fome
tribe of the human race that was found to be in thi.?
natural ftatc. If no fuch inftance can be given, it is
probably a ftate merely imaginary ; like that ftate,
v/hich fome have imagined, wherein men were Oiirnn
Oiffan^Sy or wherein they were fifhes with tails.

Indeed, fuch a ftate feems impollible. That a man
ftiould lend without any conception of his having a
right to be repaid ; or that a man fliould borrow on
the condition of paying in a few days, and yet have
no conception of his obligation, feems to me to
involve a contradiction.

I grant, that a humane man may lend M'ithout
any expectation of being repaid ; but that he fhould
leild without any conception of a right to be repaid,
is a contradiction. In like manner, a fraudulent
man msy borrow without an intention of paying
back ; but that he could borrow, while an obligation
to repay is perfectly unintelligible to him, this is a
contradiclion.

The Aime author, in his Enquiry into the Princi-
ples of Morals, feci. 3. treating of the fame fubjeft,
has the following note :

" 'Tis evident, that the will or confent alone
" never transfers property, nor caufes the obligation
" of a promife, (for the fame reafoning extends to
" both) but the will muft be cxprcflcd by words or
*^ figns, in order to impofc a tie upon any man.
'- The expreflion being once brought in as fubfcr-
" vient to the will, foon becomes the principal part
*^ of the promife ; nor will a man be Ids l.n)und by
" his word, though he fccrctly give a different di-
" reclion to his intention, and with-hold the aflent
" of his mind. But though the exprcllion makes,

OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 437

" on mod occafions, tlie whole of tlic promife ;
*' yet it docs not always (o ; iiid one who (liould
*' make uie ot any cxprcfiion, of wliich he knows
*' not the meaning, and wliich he ufes without any
" fenfc of the confequcnces, m-ouM not certainly be
*' bound by it. Nay, though lie know its mcaring ;
" yet if he ufes it in jeft only, and wiih fuch hgns
" as fliew evidently he has no ferious intention of
*' binding liinifelf, he would not be under r.ny ob-
*' ligation of performance ; but it is nccefiary that
*' the words be a perfcdt exprcdion of the will, with-
*■ out any contrary iigns. Nay, even this we muft
*' not carry fo far as to imagine, that one whom,
" from our quickncfs of underftanding, we conjec-
*' ture to have an intention of deceiving u=;, is not
*' bound by his expreflion or verbal promife, if we
" accept of it, but muft limit tliis coaclullon to
" thofe cifcs, where the hgns are .oi' a diti'erent
" nature from thofe of deceit. All thclc ccntradlc-
*' tions are eaftly accounted for, if juftice arifcs
" entirely from its ufcfulnefs to focicty, but will
" never be explained on any other hypothefis."

Here we have the opinion of this grave moralift
and acute nictaphyfician, that the principles of ho^
pefty and fidelity are at bottom a bundle of contra-
di<5lions. This is one part of his moral fyftc:n
which, I cannot help thinking, l)orders upon liccn-
tioufnefs. It furely tcnvis to give a very unfavoura-
ble notion of that cardinal viituc, witlioyt which no
man has a title to be called an honeft man. What
regard can a man pay to the virtue of fidelity, wlio
believe.-; that its elVential rules contradi<5l each other ?
Can a man be bound by contradictory rules of con-
duct r No more, furely, tl'.riU he can be bound to
believe contr:idicl(U-y principles.

He tells US, *"• 'ihat all thefe cnntr.vJiclions are
" cafily accounted for, if jullice ariies entirely from
" its ufcfulnefs to focicty, but will never be explain-
ed upon any other hypothefis."

I know

438 ESSAY V. Chap. VI.

I knoM' not indeed what is meant bv accountini::
for contradictions, or explaining them. I appre-
hend, that no hypothefis can make that which is a
contradiction to be no contradiction. However,
without attempting to account for thefe contradi6i-
ons upon his own hypothefis, he pronounces, in a
decifive tone, that they will never be explained upon
any other hypothefis.

What if it {hail appear, th.it the contradictions
mentioned in this paragraph, do all take their rife
from two capital miftakes the author has made with
regard to the nature of prcm.ifes and contracts ; and
if, when thefc are corrected, there fh lU not appear
i Ihadow of contradiction in the cafes put by him ?
The firft miftake is. That a promife is fome kind
of will, confent or intention, which may be ex-
pteffed, or inay not be exprefled. This is to miftake
the nature of a promife : For no will, no confent or
intention, that is not exprcffi'd, is a promife. A
promife, being a focial tranfacTion between tv.o
parties, without being exprefled can have no ex-
iftence.

Another capital miftake that runs through the
paifage cited is, That this will, confent or intention,
which makes a promife, is a will or intention to
|)erform what we promife. Evfery man knows that
there may be a fraudulent prbmife, made without
intention of performing, i^ut the intention to per-
foi-m the promife, or not to perform it, whether
the intention be known to the other party or not,
inakes no part of the promife, it is a folitary act of
the mind, and can neither conftitute nor diilblvc an
obligation. What makes a promife is, that it be
fexpreffed to the other piirty with underitanding, :ind
with an intention to becuine bound, and that it be
accepted by him.

Carrying thefe remarks along with us, let us re-
view the palTage cited.

OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 439

Firji, He obferves, that the will or confent alone
docs not Ciiufc the obligatioji of u proniil'c, but it
muil be exprellcJ.

1 anfwcr : The will not cxprefTed is not a proniife;
and is it a contradiCiion that that which is not a
proniifelliould not caulc the obligation of a promife ?
He goes on : The exprefliou being once brought in
a> ilibfervient to tlic will, loon becomes a principal
part of the promife. Here it is fuppofeu, that the
exprefiion was not originally a coniiituent part of
the promife, but it foon becomes fuch. It is brought
ill to aid and be fubicrvient to the promife wliich
was made before by the will. If Mr. Hume had
conlidered, that it is the exprcilion accompanied
with undcrllandlnii- and will to become bound, that
coniHtutes a promife, he would never h.ave faid, that
the expreilion foon becomes a part, and is brought
in as fubfcrvicnt.

lie adds, Nor will a man be lefs bound by his word,
though he fecretly gives a difl'erent direJ"tion io his
intention, and withholds the affent of his mind.

'I'hc cafe here put needs fc^-me explication. Lithcr
it means, that the man knowingly and voluntarily
gives his word, without any intention of giving his
word ; or that he gives it without the intention of
keeping it, and performing what he promifes. The
l.ift: of thefe is indeed a poilible cafe, and is, I appre-
hend, wliat Mr. Hjaik means. But the intention of
keeping his promife is no part of the promife, nor
docs it in the leall alTect the obligation o^ it, as we
have often obiervcd.

If the Author meant that tlie man mavknowinc:-
ly and voluntarily give his word, witliout the inten-
l ion of (giving his word, this is impoflible : For inch
is the nature of all focial acls of the mind, that, as
they cannot be without being cxpreffed, fo they can-
not be exprciled knov\ ingly and willingly, but they
mult be. If a man puts a queiUon knowingly and
willingly, it i ; iinpoilible that he (hculd at tJie fajne

timr

440 E S S A Y V. • Chap. VL

time will not to put it. If he p;ives a command
knowinf.^ and willingly, it is impofiible that he fliould
at the fame time will not to ccive it. We cannot have
contrary wills at the fame time. And, in like man-
ner, if a man knowingly and willingly becomes
bound by a promife, it is impofiible that he fhould
at the fame time will not to be bound.

To fuppofe, therefore, that when a man know-
ingly and willingly gives, his word, he with-holds
that will and intention which makes a promife, is
indeed a contradiction ; but the contradiction is not
in the nature of the promife, but in the cafe fup-
pofcd by Mr. Hume.

Ke adds, though the exprefTion, for the mofl part,
makes the whole of the promife, it does not al-
ways fo.

I anfvt^er. That the exprcilion, if it is not accom-
panied with underftanding, and Mali to engage, never
makes a promife. The Author here afiumes a pof-
tulate, which no body ever granted, and which can
only be grounded on the impofiible fuppofition made
in the former fentence. And as there can be no pro-
mife without knowledge, and will to engage, is it
marvellous that words which are not underftood,
or words fpoken in jefi:, and without any intention
to become bound, fnould not have the effect of a
promife -•*

The laft cafe put by Mr. Hume, is that of a
man who promifes fraudulently \\ith an intention
not to perform, and whofe fraudulent intention is
difcovered by the other party, who, notwithfb.nd-
ing, accepts the promife. Tie is bound, fays Mr.
Hume, by his verbal promife. Undoubtedly he is
bound, becaufe an inteiuion not to perform, the pro-
mife, whether known to the other party or not,
makes no part of the promife, nor atfccis its obli-
gation, as has been repeatedly obferved.

From wliat has been faid, I think it evident, that
to one who attends to the nature of a promife or
contra(ri, there is not the leail appearance of con-
tradidion in the principles of miorality relating to
contrails.

APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 441

it would indeed appear wonderful, that fuch a
Dian as Mr. Humf-: (hould have impofcd upon Iiimfelt
i-n (o plain a matter, if wc did not lee frequent in-
ftances of ingenious men, whole zeal in fupportintj
a favourite hypothefis, darkens ihelr underftand-
ini^, and hinders them from feeing what is before
their eyes.

CHAP. VII.

That moral Jpprobaticn implies a real 'Judgment.

IhE approbation of good a^lions, and difappro-
bation of bad, are fo familiar to every man come
to years of underftanding, that it feems ftrange there
fhould be any difpute about their nature.

Whether we reflect upon our own condu^l:, or
attend to the conduA of others with whom we live,
or of whom we hear or rend, we cannot help ap-
proving of fome things, difapproving of others, and
regarding many with perfect indiilbreiice.

Thefe Dperations of our minds we are confcious of
every day, and almoft every hour we live. Men of
ripe underftanding arc capable of rcflecl:Ing upon
them, and of attending to what palTes in their own
thoughts on fuch occafions ; yet, for half a centu-
ry, it has been a fcrious difpute among Philofo-
phers, what this approbation and difapprobation is,
Whether there be a real judgment included in it,
which, like all other judgments, mull be true or
falfe ; or. Whether it include no more but fome
agreeable or uneafy feeling, in the perfon who ap-
proves or difap[)r()ves.

Mr. HiiMH obferves very juftiy, tliat this is a cctxx-
tvoYZT^y Jl arid nf late. Before the modern fyflem
of ideas :a\A imprefiions was introduced, noti\in:j

would

442 ESSAY V. Chap. VII.

would have appeared more abfurd, than to fay, That
when I condemn a man for what he has done, I
pafs no judgment at all about the man, but only ex-
prefs fome uneafy feeling in niyfclf.

Nor did the new fyftem produce this difcovery at
once, but gradually, by feveral fteps, according as
its confequences were more accurately traced, and
its fpirit more thoroughly imbibed by fucceffive phi-
lofophers.

Des Cartes and Mr. Locke went no farther than
to maintain that the fecondary qualities of body,
heat and cold, found, colour, tafte and fmcll, which
we perceive and judge to be in the external objccl,
are mere feelings or fenfations in our minds, there
being- nothing in bodies themfelves to wliich thefe
names can be applied ; and tliat the oHice of the
external fenfes is not to judge of external things,
but only to give us ideas or fenfations, from which
-sX^e are by reafoning to deduce the exigence of a
material world without us, as well as we can,

Arthur ("!ollier and Eifhop Berkeley dtfco-
vered, from the fame principles, that the primary
as well as the fecondary, qualities of bodies, fuch
as extenfion, figure, folidity, motion, are only fen-
fations in our minds ; and therefore, that there is
no material world without us at all.

The fame philofophy, when it came to be applied
to matters of taile, difcovered that beauty and de-
formity are not any thing in the objecls, to wnlch
men, from the beginning of the world, afcribed
them, but certain feelings in the mind of the fpec-
tator.

The next ftep was an eafy confequence from all
the preceding, that moral approbation and difap-
probation are not judgments, which mull be true
or talfc, but barely, agreeable and uneafy feelings
or feniations.

Mr. IIuME made the laft ftep in this progrefs, and
ci'uwued the fyi.lcm by what he calls his hyp-jthtjis,

APfROBAtlON IMi'LlES JUIJGMENT. 44^

to wit, That belief is more properly an a-^ of
the fenfitive, than of the cogitative part of our
nature.

Beyond this 1 think no man can go in this track ;
fcnfiition or feeling is all, and what is left to the
cogitative part of our nature, I am not able to
comprehend.

1 have Jiad occafion to confider each of thcfe pa-
radoxes, excepting that which relates to morals, in
E[J'ays on the Jntelledual Powers of Ma?i ; and, though
tiiey be ftriclly connected with each other, and wirh
tlie fyllcm whicJi has produced them, I have attempt-
^dto fhew, that they are inconfiftent with juft noti-
of our intelleclual powers, no lefs tlian they are
with the common fenfc and common language of
mankind. And this, I think, will likewile appear
with regard to the conclufion relating to morals, to
wit. That moral approbation is only an agreeable feel-
ing, and not a real judgment.

To prevent ambiguity as much as pofiiblc, let
us attend to the meaning of feeling and judgment.
Thefe operations of the mind, perhaps, cannot be
logically defined; but they are \\'c\\ underftood,
and eaiily diftinguiflied, by their properties and
adjuncts.

Feeling, or renfation, fccms to be the lov/eft de-
gree of animation we can conceive. We give the
name of animal to every being that feels pain or
pleafure ; and this feems to be the boundary between
the inanimate and animal creation.

We know no being of fo low a rank in the crea-
tion of God, as to pollefs this animal power only
without any other.

We commonly dillinguifli feeling from thinking,
becaulb it hardly deier\-c>. the name ; and though it
be, in a more general fenfe, afpecicsof thought, is
leafl removed from the paflive and inert ftate of
things inanimate.

A feci-

444 ESSAY V. . Chap. VII.

A feeling muft be agreeable, or uncafy, or indif-
ferent. It may be weak or ftrong. It is exprcfl'cd
in language either by a fiiigle word, or by fuch a
contexture of words as may be the fubjecl or predi-
cate of a propofition. For it implies neither afiir-
mation nor negation ; and therefore cannot hav^e the
qiialiaes of true or falfc, which diillnguilli propo-
rtions from all other form.s of fpecch, and judg-
ments from all other a(5ts of the n)ind.

Th^t I have fuch a feeling, is indeed an affirmative
propofition, and exprelfes teftimony grounded upon
an intuitive iudgnsent. But the feeling is only
one term of this propofition ; and it can only make
a propolition when joined with another term, by
a verb affirming or denying.

As feelinr^ diliino-ui flies the animal nature from
the inanimate ; fo judging fecms to diftinguifli the
rational nature from the merely animal.

Though judgment in general is exprefled in one
word in language, as the mod complex operations of
the mind may be ; yet a particular judgment can only
be expredcd by a fentence, and by that kind of
fentence which Logicians call a propfiiion, in which
there muft necelTarily be a verb in ih^ indicative
mood, either expreilcd or underftood.

Every judgment muft neceffiirily be true or falfe,
and the fame may be faid of the propofition which
cxpreiies it. It is a determination of the under-
ftanding, with regard to what is true, or falfe, or
dubious.

In judgment, we can diftinguifli the obje6l about
which we judge, from the aft of the mind In judg-
inaj of that obje61. In mere feeling there is no fuci^
diftinoiion. The objccl of judgment muft be ex-
prefled by a propofition ; and belief, diibclicf or
doubt, always accompanies the judgment we form.
If we judge the propofition to be true, we muft
believe it ; if we judge it to be falfe, wc muft dif-
believe it; and if we be uncertain whether it be
true or falfc, wc muft doubt.

The

APrROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 445

The toothache the headachy are words which ex-
prcls uneafy feelings ; l)ut to fay that they cxprefs
a iiidarnient would be ridiculous.

That the fun is greater than the earthy is a propor-
tion, and therefore the objecl of judo;ment : and
when ailirnied or denied, believed or difl:)elieved, or
doubted, it exprcifes judgment , but to fay that it
exprelles only a feeling in the mind of him that be-
lieves it, would be ridiculous.

Thcfe two operations of mind, when we confider
tliem feparately, are very diiferent, and eafily diftin-
guilhed. When we feel without judging, or judge
without feeling, it is impoflible, without very grofs
inattention, to miftake the one for the other.

But in many operations of the kind, both are in-
feparably conjoined under one name ; and when we
are not aware that the operation is complex, we may
take one ingredient to be the whole, and overlook
the other.

In former ages, that moral power, by which hu-
man actions ought to be regulated, was called reafon^
and conlidered both by Piiiiofophcrs, and by the vul-
gar, as the power of judging what v.e ought, and
what we ought not to do.

This is very fully exprciled by I\Ir. Hume, in his
Treatife of Human Nature, Book II. Part III. ^ 7^.
" Nothing is more ufual in philofophy, and even
" in common life, than to talk of the combat of
*^ pafTion and reafon, to give the preference to rea-
" fon, and ad'ert that men are only fo far virtuous
" as they conform themfelves to its didiatcs. Everv
" rational creature, 'tis fiid, is obliged to regulate
" his anions by reafon ; and if any other motive or
" principle challenge the direction of his conduct,
" he ought to oppofe it, till it be entirely fubdued,
" or, at leaft, brought to a conformity to that fu-
" perior principle. On this method of thinking-,
" the grcateft part of moral philofophv. ancient
*' and modern, fcems to b.^ founded."

That

44^ ESSAY V. Chap. VII,

That thojfe PhilofopKers attended chiefly to the
judging puwer of our moral faculty, appean from
the names they gave to its operations, and from
the whole of their language concerning it.

The modern philofophy has led men to attend
chiefly to their fenfiitions and feelings, and thereby
to refolve into mere feeling, complex a6ts of th^
mind, of which feeling is only one ingredient.

I had occaflon, in the preceding Effays, to obferve,
that feveral operations of the mind, to which we
give one name, and confider as one aft, are com-
pounded of more limple a6ts infeparably united in
our conftitution, and that in thcfe, fenfation or
feeling often makes one ingredient.

Thus the appetites of hunger and thirft are com-
pounded of an uneafy fenfation, and the delire of
food or drink. In our benevolent aifections, there
is both an agreeable feeling, and a defire of happi-
nefs to the objecl of our atl'edion ; and malevolent
aifections have ingredients of a contrary nature.

In thefe inllances, fenfation or feeling is infepara-
bly conjoined with delire. In other inftances, we
find fenfation infeparably conjoined with judgment
or belief, and that in two different ways. In fome
inftances, the judgment or belief feems to be the
confequence of the fenfation, and to be regulated
by it. In other inftances the fenfation is the confe-
quence of the judgment.

Vv'hen we perceive an external objecl by our
fenfes, we have a fenfation conjoined by a firm be-
lief of the exiftfnce and fenfible qualities of the ex-
ternal object. Nor has all the fubtilty of metaphy-
fics been able to disjoin what nature has conjoined
in our conftitution. De^ Cartes and Locke en-
deavoured, by reafoning, to deduce the exiftence
of external objects from our fenlations, but in vain.
Subfequent Philofophers, iinding no reafon for this
connection, endeavoured to throw off the belief of
external obje<!:ts as being unrcafonabic ; but this at-
tempt

APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 447

tempt is no lefs vain. Nature has doomed i:s to
believe the tclnmony of our fenfcs, whether we
can give a good realbn for doing fo or not.

In this inftance, the belief or judgment is the
confequcnce of the fenfation, as tlie fenilation is the
confequencc of the impreflion mad£ on the organ of
fenfc.

But in moft of the operations of mind in which
judgment or belief is combined with feeling, the
feeling is the confequence of the judgment, and is
regulated by it. T

Thus, an account of the good conduct of a friend
at a diftancc gives m.e a very agreeable feeling, and
a contrary account would give me a very uneafy
feeling ; but thcfe feelings depend entirely upon my
belief of the report.

In hope, there is an agreeable feeling, depending
upon the belief or expeclation of good to come :
Fear is made up of contrary ingredients ; in both,
the feeling is regulated by the degree of belief.

In the rcfpect we bear to tlie worthy, and in our

conten^.pt of the worthlefs, there is both judgment

and feeling, and the laft depends entirely upon the

firft.

The fame mav be faid of gratitude for crood ofllces
' . . . *^ ^

and refcntmcnt of injuries.

Let me now connder how I am affe<?ied when I fee
a man excrti?ig himfelf nobly in a good caufe. I am
confcious that the effect of liis conduct on my mind
is complex, though it may be called by one name.
I look up to his virtue, I ;>pprove, I admire it. In
doing i"o, 1 have pleafure indeed, or an :^greeabie feel-
ing ; this is granted. But I find m^'fclf intercftcd in
his fucccfs and in his fame. This is aflediion ; it is
love and cileeni, which is more than mere feeling.
The man is the obje<5t of this efceem j but in mere
f<;e!ing there is no objccl.

I am iikcwife confcious, that this agreeable feeling
m mc, and this efleem of him depend entirely upon

the

448 E S S A Y V. Chap. VII.

the judgment I form of his conduct. I judge that
this condu6l merits efteem ; and, while I thus judge,
1 cannot but efteem him, and contemplate his con-
duct with pleafure. Perfuade me that he was bribed,
or that he adted from fome mercenary or bad mo-
tive, immediately my efteem and my agreeable feel-
ing vanifti.

In the approbation of a good action, therefore,
there is feeling indeed, but there is alfo efteem of
the agent ; and both the feeling and the efteem de-
pend upon the judgment v.e form of his conduct.

When 1 exercife my moral faculty about my own
actions or thofe of other men, I am confcious that
I judge as well as feel. I accufe and excufe, I acquit
and condemm, I aftent and dilTent, 1 believe and dif-
believe, and doubt. Thefe are ads of judgment,
and notfeeling-s.

Every determination of the underftanding, with
regard to what is true or falfe, is judgment. That
I ought not to fteal, or kill, or to bear falfe witnefs,
are propofitions, of the truth of which I am as well
convinced as of any propofition in Euclid. I am
confcious that I judge them to be true propofitions ;
and my confcioufuefs makes all other arguments
uDaecelfary, with regard to the operations of my
own mind.

That other men judge, as well as feci in fuch cafes,
I am convinced, becaufc they underftand me when
I exprefs my nicral judgment, and exprefs theirs by
the fame terms and phrafes.

Suppofe that, in a cafe well known to both, my
friend fays. Such a man did ivell and '•jaorthily ^ bis con-
dud is highly approveablc. lliis fpeech, according to
all rules of interpretation, exprefi'es my friend's
judgm.ent of the man's conduct:. This judgment
may be true or falfe, and I may agree in opinion with
him, or I may diifent from him without offence, as
we may dilTer in other matters of judgment.

Suppofe

APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGEMENT. 4^9

Suppofc, agai:), that, in relation to the fame cafe,
my friend fay:'>, The mini's condud gave me a very agree-
able fee I'm g.

This fpcech, if .approbation be nothing but an
agreeable feeling, mull have tlie very fame mean-
ing with the firft, and exprefi neither more nor lefi.
But this cannot be, for' two reafons.

Firji, Becaufe there is no rule in grammar or rhe-
toric, nor any ufage in language, by which thefe
two fpeeches can be conflrued, fo as to have the
fame meaning. Theyfr/? ex-preifes plainly an opinion
or judgment of the conduct of the man, but fiys no~
tliing of the fpeakcr. 'V\\Q.fecond orAy tediiies a facl
concerning the fpeakcr, to wit, that he had fuch a
feeling.

Another reafon why thefe two fpeeehcs cannot
mean the fame thing is, that the firll may be contra-
dicted without any ground of offence, fucli contra-
didion being only a difference of opinion, which,
to a reafonable man, gives no offence. But the fc-
cond fpeech cannot be contradidled without an af-
front ; for, as every man mud know his own feel-
ings, to deny that a man had a feeling which he af-
firms he had, is to charge him with falfehood.

If nioral approbation be a real judgment, which
produces an agreeable feeling in the mind of him
who judges, both fpeeches are perfectly intelligible,
in the mod obvious and literal fenfe. Their mean-
ing is different, but they are related, fo that the one
may be inferred from the other, as we infer the ef-
fect from the caufe, or the caufe from the elTecl. I
know, that what a man judges to be a very wor-
thy action, he contemplates with pleafure ; and what
he contemplates with pleafure, mufl, in liir, judg-
ment, have worth. But the judgment and the feel-
ing are different adls of his mind, thtmgk connected
as caufe and effedl. He can exprefs either the one or
the other with perfed propriety ; but tiie fpeech
which exprclfcs his feeling is altogether improper and
F f inept

450 ESSAY V. Chap. VII.

inept to exprefs his jutlcijment, for this evident rca-
ibn, that judgment and feeling, though in foiric ca-
fes connecicd, are things in their nature different.

If we fuppofe, on the other h'and, that moral ap-
probation is nothing more than an agreeable feeling,
occafioned by tlie contemplation of an action, the
fecond fpccch above mentioned has a diflinrt mean-
ing, and exprefles all that is m.eant by moral appro-
bation. But the firft fpeech either means the very
fame thing, (which cannot be, for the reafons alrea-
dy mentioned) or it has no meaning.

Now, we may appeal to the Reader, whether, in
convcrfation upon human charaders, fuch fpeeches
as the firft are not as frequent, as familiar, and as
Avell undcrftood, as any thing in language ; and whe-
ther they have not been common in all ages that we
can trace, and in all languages ?

This do6lrine, therefore. That moral approbation
Is merely a feeling without judgment, neceffarily car-
ries along with it this confequencc, that a form of
fpeech, upon one of the moft common topics of dif-
courfe, which cither has no meaning, or a nieaning
irrcconcilcable to all rules of grammar or rhetoric,
is found to be common and familiar in all languages
and in all ages of the world, while every man knows
Jiow to exprefs the meaning, if it have any, in plain
and proper language.

Such a confequence I think fuflicient to fmk any
philofophical opinion on which it hangs.

A particular language may have fomc oddity, or
even abfurdity, introduced by fome man of emi-
nence, from caprice or wrong judgment, and fol-
lowed, by fervilc imitators, for a time, till it be
detected, and, of confequence, difcountenanced and
dropt ; but that the fame abfurdity fliould pervade
all languages, through all ages, and that, after be-
ing detefted and expofed, it fliould fcill keep its
countenance and its place in language as much as
before, this can never be wliilc men have under-
ftanding.

APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 451

It may be obfervcJ by the way, tii:it the fame ar-
gument may be applied, v/ith equal force, againil
thofe other paradoxical opinions of modern philofo-
pliv, which we i)efore mentioned as connedcd with
this, fuch as, that beauty and deformity are not at
sll in the objecl:i to which language univerfally af-
cribes them, but are merely feeiings in the mind of
the fpedator ; that the fecondary qualities are not
iu external objects, but are merely feelings or fen-
fations in him. that perceives tjiem ; and, in general,
that our external and internal fcnfes are faculties by
which we have fcnfations or feelings only, but by
which we do not judge.

That every form of fpcech, wluch language affords
to cxprefs our judgments, fhould, in all ages, and
in all languages, be ufed to exprefs what is no
judgment ; and that feelings, which are eafily ex-
prelfed in proper language, Ibould as univerfally be
exprefl'ed by language altogether improper and ab-
furd, I cannot believe ; and therefore mufl con-
clude, that if language be the exprefiion of thought,
men judge of the primary and fecondary qualities
of body by their external fenfes, of beauty and de-
formity by their tafte, and of virtue and vice by
their moral faculty.

A truth fo evident as this is, can hardly be ob-
fcured and brought into doubt, but by the abufe of
words. And much abufe of words there has been
upon this fubjccc. To avoid this, as much as poilible,
1 haveuled ihis word judgmefif, on one fide, -AndJ^n/d'
tion or feeling, upon the other ; becaufe thefe v/ords
have been lead liable to abufe or ambiguity. But it
may be proper to make fome obfervations upon other
words that have been ufed in this controverfy.

Mr. Hume, in his Treatife of human Nature, has
employed two fecfions upon it, the titles of which
are. Moral Dijiinclions not derived from Reafon, and
Moral Dijlindiojis derived from a Moral Senje.

F f 2 ' Whea

452 ESSAY V. CiiAP.VIf.

When he is not, by cuflom, led unawares to fpeak
of reafon like other men, he limits that word to lig-
nify only the power of judging in matters merely
fpeculative. Hence he concludes, " That reafon of
*' itfclf is inactive and perfectly inert." That " ac-
" tions may be laudable or blameablc, but cannot
" be reafonable or unreafonable." 1'hat " it is not
" contrary to reafon, to prefer the deftruction of
" the whole world to the fcratching of my finger."
That " it is not contrary to reafon, for me to chufe
*' my total ruin to prevent the leaft uneafmefs of an
" Indian, or of a perfon wholly unknown to me."
That " reafon is, and ought only to be, the flave of
" the paflions, and can never pretend to any other
" office, than to ferve and obey them."

If we take the word reafon to mean what com-
mon ufe, both of philofophers, and of the vulgar,
hath made it to mean, thefe maxims are not only
falfe, but licentious. It is only his abufe of the
words reafon and pajfion, that can jullify them from
this cenfure.

The meaning of a common word is not to be af-
certained by philofophical theory, but by common
ufage ; and if a man will take the liberty of limit-
ing or extending the meaning of common words at
his pleafure, he may, like Mandeville, infinuate
the moft licentious paradoxes with the appearance
of plaufibility. I have before made fome obfervati-
ons upon the meaning of this word, Ellay II. chap.
2. and ElTay III. part 3. chap. i. to which the Reader
is referred.

When Mr. Hume derives moral diftinftions from
a moral fenfe, I agree with him in words, but wc
differ about the meaning of the word fenfe. Every
power to which the name of a fenfe has been given,
is a power of judging of the objects of that fenfe,
and has been accounted fuch in all ages ; the
moral fenfe therefore is the power of judging
nmorals. But Mr. Hume will have the moral
fenfe to be only a power of feeling, without judg-
ing : This I take to be an abufe of a word.

Authors

APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 453

Authors who place moral approbation in feeling
finly,vcry oFtLMi uic the word fcnl'imcnl^ to cxprcfs feel-
ing without JLKignicnt. Tins I tiike likewile to be an
abufe of a word. Our moral determinations may,
v/ith propriety, be called moral foiiimcnts. For the word
Jcntiment^ in the I'.ngliih Liiiguage, never, as I conceive,
lignifies mere feeling, but judgment accompanied
witlT feeling. It was wont to fignify opinion or judg-
ment of any kind, but of late, is appropriated to
fignify an opinion or judgment, that ftrikes, and
produces fome agreeable or uneafy emotion. So
we fpeak of fentiments of refpecl, of elleem, of
gratitude. But I never heard the pain of the gout,
or any other mere feeling, called a fentiment.

Even the word judgment has been ufed by Mr.
IIuML. to cxprefs what he maintains to be only a
feeling. Treatife of Human Nature, part 3. page
3. " The term perception is no lefs applicable to
" thofe jiiib^mcnts by which we diftinguifh moral
" good and evil, than to every other opei jcion
" of the mind.'* Perhaps he ufed this word i.iadver-
tcntly ; for I think theri-; cannot be a greater abufe
of words, than to pat ju.binent for what he held
to be mere feeling^.

All the words moft commonly ufed, both by phi-
lofopliers and by the vulgar, to exprefs the operati-
ons of our moral faculty, fuch as, decifwn^ detcrmi-
/tj/ion, fcntencc, approbat'iGn^ difapprobaiion, applaufc^
iinfurc^ prciifc, bhunc^ necediirily imply judgment
in their meaning. When, therefore, they are ufed
l)y P.ir. lIuMi:, antl others, who hold his opinion,
to fignify feelings only, this is an al)ufe of words.
If ihcfe Philofophers wifh to ipeak plainly and pro-
]ierly, they muft, in difcourhng of morals, difcard
tliefe words altogether, becaufe their edablifhed lig-
nification in the language, is contrary to what they
would exprel's by I hem.

They mull likewile difeard from morals the words
cu'J-'f and ought net, v»hich very properly exprefs
judgm-jnt, but cannot be iq^plied to mere feelings.

Upon

^3 4

ESSAY V. Cmap.VII.

Upon thefe M'^ords Mr. Hume has made a particular
obfervation in the conclulion of his lirft feclion above
mentioned. I fnall give it in his ov/n words, and
make fome remarks upon it.

'• I cannot forbear adding to thefe rcafonings, an
f' obfervation which inay, perhaps, be found of
" foine inriportance. In every fyftein of morality
" which I have hitherto met with, I ha^re always
*' remarked, that the Author proceeds for fome time
" in the ordinary way of reafoning, and eftabliihes
^' the being of a God, or makes obfervations con-
*' cernirg human affairs ; when, of a fudden, I am
f furprifed to find, that, inftead of the ufual copu-
" lations of propofitions, is and is not, I m.eet with
" no proportion tha- i< not connected with an cughf^
^' or an ought not. I'his change is imperceptible, but
" is hov/evcr, of the laft confequence. For as this
*' ought or ought ?iot exprefles fome new relation or
" affirmation, 'tis neceflary that it fnould be obferv-
*' ed and explained ; and, at the fame time, that a
f' reafon fhould be given for what feems altogether
" inconceivable ; how this new relation can be a de-
^' auction from others which are entirely different
" from it. Eut as Authors do not commonly ufe
*' this precaution, I fliall prefume to recommend it
^' to the Readers ; and am perfuaded, that this fmall
" attention would fubvert all the vulgar fyflems of
*' morality, and let us fee, that the diftinction of
" vice and virtue, is not founded merely on the re-
f' lations of objects, nor is perceived by reafon."

We may here obferve, that it is acknowledged,
that the words ought and ought not exprefs fome rela-
tion or affirmation ; but a relation or affirmation
which Mr. Hume thought inexplicable, or, at leaft,
jnconiiflent with his fyftem of morals. He muft,
therefore, have thought, that they ought not to be
ufdd in treating of that fubje^l:.

He likewife makes two clemands, and, taking it
for granted that they cannot be fatisfied, is perlua-

dedj

APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 455

di\l, tint an attention to this is fudicicnt to fubvcrt
all the vulo;ar fyftcms of morals.

They/r// demand is, that ou^ht and ought not be
explained.

'i'o a man that underftands Englifli, there are
furely no words that require explanation lels. Are
wot all men taught, from their early years, that they
ouc^iit not to lie, nor Heal, nor fvvear falfely ? But
Mr. Hume thinks, that men never underftood what
thefe precepts mean, or rather that they are unintel-
ligible. If this be fo, I think indeed it will follow,
that all the vulgar fyllems of morals are fubverted.

Dr. Johnson, in his Dictionary, explains the word
oir^ht to hgnify, being obliged by duty ; and I know
no better exphcation that can be given of it. The
Reader will fee what I thought neccllary to fay con-
cerning tlie moral relation expreifed by this word,
in Efl'ay III. part 3. chap. 5.

The fccond demand is. That a reafon fhould be
given why this relation fliould be a dedud^tion from
others which are entirely difTerent from it.

This is to demand a reafon for what does not exift.
The firll principles of morals are not dcduclions.
They are felf-evident ; and their truth, like that of
other axionis, is perceived without rcafoning or
deduclion. And moral truths that are not felf-evi-
dent, are deduced, not from relations quite ditT^r-
ent from them, but the firil principles of morals.

In a matter fo intereifing to mankind, and fo fre-
quently the fubjecl of converfation among the learn-
ed and the unlearned as morals is, it may furely be
expeded, that men willexprefs both their judgments
and their feelings with propriety, and conliilently
with the rules of language. An opinion, therefore,

which makes the lanfi:ua;xc of all acres and nations,

1.-. "■^". ^

upon tins fubjecl, to be improper, contrary to al!

rules of language, and lit to be difcardcd, needs no

other refutation.

AS^ ^^ S S A Y V. Chaf.VU.

As ir.imkind have, in all ages, underflood reafon
to mean the power by which not only our fpeculative
opinions, but our actions ought to be regulated, we
may fliy, with perfecl propriety, that all vice is con-
trary to reafon ; that, by reafon, we are to judge of
what we ought to do, as well as of what we ought
to believe.

But though all vice be contrary to reafon, T con-
ceive that it would not be a proper definition of vice
to fay, that it is a con duel contrary to reafon, be-
caufe this definition would apply equally to folly,
which all men diftinG;uifh from vice.

There are other phrafes which have been ufed on
the fame fide of the queftion, which I fee no reafon
for adopting, fuch as, aiding contrary to the relations
of things, contrary to the reafon of things, to the fitnefs
of things, to the truth of things, to abfolute fitnefs. Thefe
phrafes have not the authority of common ufe,
Tvhich, in m.atter of language, is great. They feem
to have been invented by fome authors, with a view
to explain the nature of vice ; but I do not think
they anfwer that end. If intended as definitions of
vice, they are improper ; becaufe, in the moft fa-
vourable fenfe they can bear, they extend to every
kind of foolifli and abfurd conduct, as well as to that
which is vicious.

I fhall conclude this chapter with fome obfervati-
ons upon the five arguments wliich Mr. Hume has
offered upon this point in his Enquiry.

The^7r/? is, That it is impofhble that the hypothcfis
he oppofes, can, in any particular inftance, be fo
much as rendered intelligible, whatever fpecious
figure it may make in general difcourle. " Examine,
" fays he, the crime of ingratitude, anatomize all its
" circumftances, and examine, by your reafon alone,
" in what confifls the demerit or blame, you will
" never come to any ifTue or conclufion."

I think it uni^.eceiiary to follow him through all
the accounts of ingratitude which he conceives may

APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 457

be given by thofe wliom he oppofo, becaufe I agree
wirh him in that which he hiiiifelt adopts, to wit,
*' Tint this crime arifes from a complication of cir-
" cumftances, which, being preConted to the fpecla-
*-'- tor, excites the fcntiinent of lilame by the parti-
" cular tlrufture and fabric of his mind."

Tliis lie thouG:ht a true and intelliaible account of
the criminality of ingratitude. So do I. And there-
fore I think the hynothciis he oppofes is intelligible,
when applied to a particular inftancc.

Mr. HuMK, no doubt, thought, that the account
lie gives of ingratitude is inconlillent A\ith the hy-
pothecs he oppofes, and could not be adopted by
thofe who hoM that liypothefis. He could be led to
think fo, only by taking for granted one of thcfe
two things. Jiiither, fir/l. That the fentiment of bUnne
is a feeling only, without juclgment ; or, fecondly^
That wdiatever is excited by the particular fabric and
llrufture of the mind muft be feeling only, and not
jutlgment. But I cannot grant cither the one or
the other.

For, as to the /fr/?, it feems evident to me, that
hox\\ fentiment and Z'/i7w^ imply judgment ; and, there-
fore, that x\\Q. fentiment of blame \^ a judgment accom-
panied with feeling, and not mere feeling without
judgment.

'I he fecond can as little be granted ; for no opera-
tion of mind, whether judgment or feeling, can be
excited but by that particular ftrufturc and fabric of
the mind which makes us capable of that opera-
tion.

liy that part of our fabric which we call thcfacuU)>
of feein^^ we judge of viiibic objects ; by tnjie^ ano-
ther part of our fabric, Ave judge of beauty and de-
formity ; by that part of our fabric, which enables
us to form abllracT: conceptions, to compare them.,
and perceive their relations, we judge of abftrai^t
truth i, and by that part of our fal;ric which we call
the moral f unity ^ we judge of virtue and vice. If we

fuppofc

45S E S S A Y V. Chap. VII.

fuppofc a being without any moral faculty in his
fabric, I grant that he could not have the fentiments
of blame and moral approbation.

There are, therefore, judgments, as well as feel-
ings, that are excited by the particular flruclure and
faliric of the mind. But there is this remarkable
difference between ihem, That every ludijment is,
m Its own nature, true or falfe ; and though it de-
pends upon the fabric of a mind, whether it have
fuch a judgment or not, it depends not upon that
fabric whether the judgment be true or not. A true
judgment Vvdll be true, whatever be the fabric of the
mind ; but a particular llru^ture and fabric is necef-
fary, in order to our perceiving that truth. Nothing-
like this can be faid of m.ere feelings, bccaufe the
attributes of true or falfe do not belons^ to tliem.

Thus I think it appears, that the hypothefis which
Mr. IIuMK oppofes is not unintelligible, when applied
to the particular inftance of ingratitude ; becaui'e the
account of ingratitude wliich he himfelf thinks true
and intelligible, is perfectly agreeable to it.

TheyircW argument amounts to this : I'hat in
moral deliberation, we muil; be acquainted before-
hand with all the objects and all tlvcir relations.
After thefe thinscs arc known, the underilandinij has
no tarther room to operate. Nothing remains but
to feel, on our part, fomc fcntiment of blame or
approbation.

Let us apply this reafoning to the office of a judge.
In a caufe that comes before him, he muil be made
acquainted wit.h ail the objects, and all their relati-
ons. After this, his underfcanding has no farther
room to operate. Nothing remains, on his part,
hut to feci the right or the wrong; and mankind
have, very abfurdiy, called him a judge \ he ought
to be called 2. feeler.

To aniwer this argument more direcily : The man
who deliberates, after all the objects and relations
m.:ntioucd by Mr. Hume are knov/n to him, lias a

point

APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 459

point to determine ; and that is, whether the action
under his deliberation ought to be done or ought
not. In moll cafes, this point will appear felf-evi-
dcnt to a man who has been accuftomed to excrcifc
his moral -judgnient j in fomc cafes it may require
realbning.

In like manner, the judge, after all the circum-
flances of the caufe are known, has to judge, whether
the pliintill' has a jull plea or not.

The tivrd argument is taken from the analogy
between moral beauty and natural, between m.oral
fentiment and talle. As beauty is not a quality of
theobjed^, but a certain feelino- of the fpeclator, fo
virtue and vice are not qualities in the peribns to
whom language afcribes them, but feelings of the
fpecTator.

But is it certain that beauty is not any quality of
the object '^. This is indeed a paradox of modern phi-
lofophy, built upon a philofophical theory ; but a
paradox fo contrary to the common language and
common fenfe of mankind, that it ought rather to
overturn the theory on uhich it ftands, than receive
any fupport from it. And if beauty be really a qua-
lity of the object, and not merely a feeling of the
fpccVator, the whole force of this argument goes over
to the other fide of the queflion.

" Euclid, he fays, has fully explained all the
" qualities of the circle, but lias not, in any propo-
** fition, faid a word of its beauty. The reafon is
" evident. The beauty is not a quality of the
" circle."

By the qihilitics of the circle^ he muft mean its pro-
perties ; and there are here two miftakes.

Fir/}, Euclid has not fully explained all the pro-
perties of the cir.-le. Many have been difcovercd
and dcmonitrated which he never dreamt of.

Second!)', The reafon why Euclid has not fiiid a
word of the beauty of the circle, is not, that leauiy
is jy.t a quality of the circle j the reafon is, that Euclid

never

^r.o ESSAY V. Chap. VII.

never digrclTcs from his fubjccb. Ilis purpofewas to
deinonltnite the mathematical properties of the
circle. Beauty is a quality of the circle, not demon-
ilrahle by mathematical reafoning, but immediately
perceived by a good tafte. To fpcak of it would have
been a digrefTion from his fubject, and that is a fault
he is never guilty of.

The fourth argument is, That inanimate objects
may bear to each other all the fame relations which
we obferve in moral agents.

If this were true, it would be very much to the
purpofe ; but it feems to be thrown out raflily, with-
out any attention to its evidence. Kad Mr. Hume
reflected but a very little upon this dogmatical afl'er-
tion,a thoufand inftances would have occurred to him
in direct contradiclion to it.

May not one animal be more tame, or more do-
cile, or more cunning, or more fierce, or more ra-
venous, than another ? Are thefe relations to be
found in inanimate objects ^. May not one man be a
better painter, or Iculptor, or fhip-builder, or tailor,
or fhoemaker, than another ? Are thefe relations to
be found in inanimate objefts, or even in brute-ani-
mals ? May not one .moral agent be more juil, more
pious, more attentive to any moral duty, or more
eminent in any moral virtue, than another ? Are not
thefe relations peculiar to moral agents ? But to
come to the relations moft cllential to morality.

When 1 fay that I ought to dofuchan adion, that it
is ?ny ciufY, do not thefe words exprefs a relation be-
tween me and a certain action in my power ; a rela-
tion which cannot be between inanimate objects, or
between any other objects but a moral agent and his
moral actions ; a relation whicli is well underltoud
by all men come to years of underft^nding, and ex-
prcHbd in all languages ?

Again, when in deliberating about two actions in
my povv'cr, which cannot both be done, I fay this
ought to be preferred lo the other j that jufticc, for

inftanccj

MTROBATION I?*irLIES JUDGMENT. 461

inftancc, ou[;ht to be preferred to generofity ; I cx-
prefs ;i nioral relation between two actions of a moral
accent, which is well underllooJ, and which cannot
exiit between objects of any other kind.

Tiierc arc, therefore, moral relations which can
have no exigence but between mor;:! agents and their
voluntary actions. To determine thefc relations is
the object of morals ; and to determine relations is
the province of judgment, and not of mere feeling.

The hij} argument is a chain of leveral propofiti-
ons, which defervc diftinct confideration. Thcv
may, I think, be fummed up in thefe four : i. There
mult be ultimate ends of aftion, beyond which it is
iibfurd to aik a reafon of acting. 2. The ultimate
ends of human actions can never be accounted for
])y reafon ; 3. but recommend themfelves entirely
to the fentiments and atfections of mankind, with-
out any dependence on the intellectual faculties. 4.
As virtue is an end, and is defirable en its own
account, without fee or reward, merely for the im-
mediate fatisfaction it conveys ; it is requiiitc, that
there fliould be fome fentiment which it touches,
fome internal taftc or feeling, or whatever you
pleafe to call it, which diftinguiihes moral good and
evil, and which embraces the one and rejects the
other.

To the firjl of thefe propofitions I entirely agree.
The ultimate ends of action are wiiat I have called
the principles of aclion, which 1 have endeavoured, in
tlie third F.ilay, to enumerate, and to clals under
three heads of mechanical, animal and rational.

The fccond propofition needs fome explication. 1
take its meaning to be. That there cannot be ano-
ther end, for the fake of which an ultimiatc end is
purfued : For the reafon of an action means nothing
but the end for which the action is done ; and the
reafon of an end of action can mean nothing but
another end, for the fake of winch that end i^ pur-
lucd, and to whicli it i:> the means.

That

a62 essay V. Chap. VII.

That this is the author's meaning is evident from
his reafoning in confirmation of it. " A(k a man,
" zu/jy be itfes exercife ? he will aniWer, hecaufe he ds-
" Jircs io keep his health. If you then enquire, luhy
'■' he defires health ? he will readily reply, bccauje fick-
" nefs is painful. If you pufh your enquiries further,
*' and dclire areafon why he hates pain, it is impof-
" fible he can ever give any. This is an ultimate
" end, and is never referred to any other objedl.'*
To account by reafon for an end, therefore, is to
fhow another end, for the fake of which that end is
defired and purfued. And that, in this fcnfc, an ul-
timate end can never be accounted for by reafon, is
certain, becaufe that cannot be an ultimate end which
is purfued only for the fake of another end.

I agree therefore with Mr. Hume in this fecond
propofition, which indeed is implied in the firft.

The third propofition is. That ultimate ends re-
commend themfeives entirely to the fentiments and
affeflions of mankind, without any dependence on
the intelleciual faculties.

V>Y fentiments he muil here mean feelings without
judgment, and by affcdions, fuch affections as imply
no judgment. For fu rely an operation tliat implies
judgment, cannot be independent of the intellectual
faculties.

This being underflood, I cannot afTcnt to this pro-
pofition.

The Author feems to think it implied in the pre-
ceding, or a neceflary confequence from it, that be-
caufe an ultimate end cannot be accounted for by
reafon ; that is, cannot be purfued merely for the
fake of another end ; therefore it can have no de-
pendence on the intelleciual faculties. I deny this
confequence, and can fee no force in it.

I think it not only does not fbllow from the pre-
ceding propofition, but that it is contrary to truth.

A man may a(5t from gratitude as an ultimate end ;
but gratitude implies a judgment and belief of fa-
vours

APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 4

1'^

vours received, and therefore is dependent on the
intellef'.iiAl fiicuUies. A man may a(St from rcrpcct
to a ^vorthy character as an ultimate end ; but ihii
refpccl: necelVarily implies a judgment of worth iu
the pcrfon, and therefore is dependent on tlie intel-
lectual faculties.

I have endeavoured in the third Efiay bcforciTJcn-
tioned, to flievv- that, befidc the animal ]-)rinciplcs of
our nature, which require will and intention, but
not judgn^iCnt, there are alfo in Iiurnan nature rati-
onal principles of action, or ultimate ends, whicli
have, in all ages, been called rational, and liavc a
juft title to that name, not only from the authority
of language, but becaufe they can have no cxiftence
but in beings endowed with reafon, and becaufe, in
all their exertions, they require not only intention
and will, but judgment or reafon.

Therefore, until it can be proved that an ultimate
end cannot be dependent on theintellcclual faculties,
this third propolition, and all tliat hangs upon it,
muil fall to the ground.

The laji proportion aHlimes, with very good rea-
fon. That virtue is an ultimate end, and defirablc
on its own account. From which, if the third pro-
portion were true, the conclulion would undoubt-
edly follow, Tliat virtue has no dependence on the
intellectual faculties. But as that propofition is not
granted, nor proved, this conclulion is left without
any fupport from the whole of the argument.

I fliould not have thought it worth v.hilc to in-
fift fo long upon this contrrrvxrfy, if I did not con-
ceive that the confcquenccs which the contrary o];i-
nions draw after them are important.

If what we call moral judgment be no real jnd >;•
m.cnt, but merely a feeling, it follows, that the prin-
ciples of morals which v/e have been taught to con-
fider as an immutable law to all intelligent I.cinrs,
have no other foundation but an arbitrary llruclurc
and fabric in the conllitution of the human mind ;

4<^4 E S S A Y V. Chap. VIL

So tliat, by a change in our flruclurc, what is im-
moral niii^ht become moral, virtue might be turn-
ed into vice, and vice into virtue. And beings of
a different ftruclure, according to the variety of
their feellngo, may have ditfereiit, nay cppofite mca-
fures of moral good and evil.

It follows that, from our notions of morals, we
can conclude nothing concerning a moral characler
in the Deity, which is the foundation of all religion,
and the flrongeft fupport of virtue.

Nay, tliis opinion feems to conclude ftrongly
againit a moral characler in the Deity, fince nothing
arbitrary or mutable can be conceived to enter into
the defcription of a nature eternal, immutable, and
neceffarily exiftcnt. Mr. Hume feems perfectly con-
liftent with himfeif, in allowing of no evidence for
the moral attributes of the Supreme Being, what-
ever there may be for his natural attributes.

On the other hand, if moral judgment be a true
and real judgment, the principles of morals ftand
upon the immutable foundation of truth, and can
undergo no change by any difference of fabric, or
ftruclure of thofe who judge of them. There may
be, and there are, beings, who have not the faculty
of conceiving moral truths, or perceiving the ex-
cellence of moral worth, as there are beings incapa-
ble of perceiving mathematical truths ; but no de-
fed, no error of underflanding, can make what
is true to be falfe.

If it be true that piety, juftice, benevolence, wif-
dom, temperance, fortitude, are in their own na-
ture the moft excellent and moft amiable qualities of
a human creature ; that vice has an inherent turpi-
tude, which merits difapprobation and dillike ; thefe
truths cannot be hid from him whofe undcrftanding
is infinite, whofe judgment is always according to
truth, and who muft efteem every thing -according
to its real value.

The

APrROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 465

The Judge of all the earth, we arc furc, will do
right. He lias given to men the faculty of perceiv-
ing the right and the wrong in conduct, as far as is
neccflary to our prefent Hate, and of perceiving the
dignity of the one, and the demerit of the other ;
and furcly there can be no real knowledge or real
excellence in man, which is not in his Maker.

We may therefore juftly conclude, That what we
know in part, and fee in part, of right and wrong,
he fees perfectly ; that the moral excellence which
we fee and admire in fome of our fellow-creatures,
is a faint but true copy of that moral excellence,
which is cflbntial to his nature ; and that to tread
the path of virtue, is the true dignity of our na-
ture, an imitation of God, and the way to obtain
his favour.

F I N / S.

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